Prejudice and Pride
by Leaper
Summary: AU: For his safety, for his sanity, people had to know what Dave Karofsky did to him in that locker room. But the consequences didn't stop where Kurt Hummel thought they would, until they exploded into events that could tear the entire town of Lima into two.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Do I need another extant project? Apparently so. This seem to go over well on Tumblr, so I've decided to put it up here to "keep me honest," as it were. Lemme know what you think.**

Kurt Hummel is not a saint.

 _David Karofsky is_ gay _!_

He is human.

 _He kissed me in the locker room! Then he threatened to_ kill _me!_

Kurt was pretty sure what exactly pushed him over the edge. Surprisingly, it wasn't the death threat, per se. It was that _finger_ , running down his chest, slowly and achingly. It crossed a line.

When the fear was gone, rage was what took its place.

 _He is violent, he is dangerous, and he needs to get his head straight before it's too late._

He told his dad. Then he told Sylvester. Then he went public — he had to, to keep Karofsky from making good on his death threat. He told Rachel, Mercedes, Jacob ben Israel, anyone who'd listen, to make sure that if he conveniently disappeared, everyone would know who was responsible.

The results were slow to come, as he knew they would be. No one believed him at first; that was how good Karofsky was at hiding. But in this, as in so many things, Karofsky was his own worst enemy; his fumbling, frantic denials just made people more suspicious. He didn't get near Kurt; his friends and father didn't let him, and he was too busy trying to save the last shreds of his popularity anyway, not to mention fighting expulsion. Then his peers started comparing notes, remembering little things that meant nothing at the time…

That's when everything went to hell for Dave Karofsky.

Kurt was witness to it every day: the slushies, the graffiti on the locker, the shoving, the taunting. It didn't matter anymore whether what Kurt said was true — even though it was. What mattered now is that people _believed_ it. And they reacted accordingly — the way they reacted to Kurt, except more so, because no one saw it coming. No one was prepared, least of all Karofsky.

And yes, as much as he hated to admit it later, it was satisfying at first. Very satisfying. Finally, Karofsky seemed to have an inkling of what he and his buddies put Kurt through. It was, as Mercedes said, justice.

That began to change about two weeks later. He was watching Karofsky slump by, purple ice dripping from his hair, and Santana said to him, "Nobody's done that to _us_ for days. Everyone's too busy with him. Good going, Kurt. I didn't think you had it in you."

Her approval was the first inkling Kurt had that he'd made a _huge_ mistake.

As the days went by, and the abuse continued (how the hell did all these people have so much _hate_ in them?), the misgivings deepened. It was partially fueled one stark realization: nobody was giving Karofsky grief for what he did to Kurt. Nobody doing this gave a damn about Kurt. They were abusing Karofsky for the _crime_ of being gay. They were basically gay bashing him, and no one minded. Kurt didn't mind.

Kurt threw up in the bathroom the afternoon he first thought about this.

It got even worse one day when Karofsky walked by him, silent, with head bowed, not even acknowledging Kurt's presence (then again, he didn't acknowledge anybody's presence these days). Kurt saw it then: the black eye.

When he asked Finn about it later, his soon-to-be-stepbrother got distinctly uncomfortable. "Azimio gave that to him," he finally said.

"Azimio? Azimio Adams?" Kurt repeated like an idiot, as if there was more than one kid named "Azimio" at McKinley — or even the United States. "I thought they were friends."

Finn sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. "Not anymore. Azimio's really religious. His dad was deacon at Karofsky's mom's church; that's how they met. It's really conservative…"

 _Karofsky's family… Members of a conservative church…_ That's when the consequences of what he'd done slammed him straight in the gut. He didn't even _think_ about this, didn't even consider what he was doing, outing another gay man in Lima, Ohio. And he knew. He _knew_ , and he did it anyway.

What kind of person was he?

His father did his best to put a stop to that. "He assaulted you, Kurt. You had to do _something_. It was self-defense. It's not your fault. The kid made his own bed; now he has to lie in it."

It was true, Kurt knew; it was all true. But it failed to make him feel even one jot better.

Then Karofsky stopped coming to school.

Kurt had halfway expected it, given what he was going through, but it was so abrupt — there one day, gone the next. Sylvester was tight lipped, and nobody else had a clue what was going on… or even cared.

Nobody could understand why Kurt cared either. "I thought you'd be happy," Tina said one day, giving voice to what everyone was thinking.

And yes, he felt safer, much safer. But the flip side… Blaine was surprisingly… ambivalent about what had happened. "I'm glad you're safe, Kurt, but…" He winced, and refused to finish the thought.

But. They talked distinctly less after that.

He got understanding from an additional unexpected source. Rachel stopped him one day. "My dads… they're worried about Karofsky," she said, twisting her hair between her fingers. "I didn't understand why at first, but then they explained it to me, told me their own stories, and…" She swallowed. "I completely understand why you did what you did, Kurt. You had to. But…"

But. That one word had been lingering in his head for weeks. He had to expel it. He had to satisfy it, by whatever means necessary.

And that meant going to see Dave Karofsky. Alone.

There was a pattern here, of those who were uncertain and concerned: people who _understood_ what being homosexual in a small Midwest city _meant_. As with so much in life, lines weren't perfect, or even visible; they were often blurred in a million shades of grey. Therefore, Kurt couldn't tell, even now, if he'd crossed such a line.

But maybe that didn't matter. For his own peace of mind, his own conscience, given what he'd discovered, what he believed, Kurt had to _know_.

For the sake of everything he held dear, he had to make sure a fellow gay man was safe.

He skipped out on school in the middle of the day. A quick Web search told him where the Karofsky house was. If anyone had known what he was planning, they would've told him he was suicidal, that he had to stop and _think_ , that this was a ridiculous idea, and he should dismiss it entirely. That was exactly why he told no one. The funny thing was, he wasn't nearly as nervous as he should've been, nearly as nervous as he thought he'd be. He wasn't entirely sure why.

Karofsky's truck was parked in front of the house as he pulled in. That was a good sign, especially considering his parents should be at work right now. He climbed out of his car, sharply conscious of each step he took up the walk, until he was finally at the Karofsky front door. Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell.

There was nothing at first, nothing for a long time. He rang it again. Still nothing. He was just beginning to wonder if no one was home (and what his next step would be if that was so) when he heard it: heavy footsteps inside the house. Then David Karofsky opened the door.

He was obviously alive, which was immensely relieving to Kurt, but he was definitely… different. It was as though the color, the life, had been drained from him. He was slumped, his eyes half-lidded; even his clothes were simple and drab. He didn't even seem surprised to see Kurt at his door, even though he had to be. It was as if he didn't even have the energy to _feel_.

Kurt swallowed. "I…" He shut his mouth again. This he hadn't considered: what the hell could he _say_?

"Hummel," Karofsky said dully. "What do you want?"

"I…" _Wanted to make sure you were okay?_ How would Karofsky react to that, especially considering who was asking? "You weren't at school," he finally said lamely.

"Yeah. So?" Those two words confirmed all of Kurt's worst fears. "You just making sure I'm out for good? Well, I am."

"I… That's not what I wanted to…"

"Okay, so what _did_ you want?" Good question; very good question.

"What… why…?"

Karofsky sighed. "Okay, you obviously aren't gonna go away until you know. Fine. I'm not going back to McKinley. I'm going away to get cured."

"Cured…?" _Oh God no no no no…_

"My pastor runs this camp. He's gonna… fix me. Fix this." Karofsky shrugged. "I'm leaving next week."

"You can't!" Kurt burst out. "Those camps don't work! You can't _pray_ the gay away…"

"I have to try!" he snapped, a sliver of the familiar Karofsky anger returning. "This… being a _fag_ … It ruined my _life_!"

 _No, I did that._ But Kurt didn't say it, recognizing how unfair it was to himself as soon as he thought it. But he thought it anyway. "Karof— David…"

"Come on, man, you know what it's like being gay!" Self-acknowledgment of his sexuality; how much had Kurt dreamed of Karofsky being that aware? But not like this, never like this… "You know how much it sucks! Father Mitchell can fix it!"

"And your parents…?" He dreaded the answer even as he asked the question.

Karofsky frowned in puzzlement, but answered anyway. "My mom arranged everything with Father Mitchell. My dad… he's just glad I'm out of McKinley, so I'm not getting beat up anymore." Kurt's stomach sank further than he thought possible. "Look, Hum— Kurt. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done any of what I did. I shouldn't have kissed you." _Why? Because I didn't want it, or because it was a homosexual act? "_ I shouldn't have threatened to kill you. It was wrong." Then he smiled — he actually _smiled_ , and Kurt's fear flared even more than ever. "But it's okay. Everything's going to be okay. I'm gonna be healed."

"David…"

"Hell, there's room for you too, if you want. Ask at St. Luke's. Just… wait a few months until I'm out of there, okay?"

"Wait, David…"

"Goodbye, Kurt. I'm sorry." He gently shut the door in Kurt's face.

As Kurt went back down the walk, his knees were shaking, everything was shaking. This… This was all _wrong_ , this wasn't supposed to happen, this was all his fault… All of his rational thinking was blown away in the hurricane of one thought: he'd just sent a gay man into the arms of a reprogramming camp.

Well, to hell with that.

The anger, the determination — much as he'd felt after Karofsky's death threat — washed over him as he got into his car, and he welcomed it. It sharpened his mind, his focus… He knew now what he had to do.

Kurt Hummel had to save Dave Karofsky: from his family, from his church, from himself.

And if he had to do some… morally and legally shady things to accomplish that, well…

So. Be. It.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt sat down with the rest of his family that very evening. The looks from the other three were mixtures of expectation and confusion. Kurt simply sat them on the sofa, placed his laptop on the coffee table between them, and got right to the point.

"I need your help. I have to help David Karofsky." Finn opened his mouth, but shut it again at Kurt's glare. "His parents are sending him to a conversion camp, and I have to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Son..." Burt Hummel began, "this isn't your responsibility." Kurt was the one who opened his mouth this time, only to be stopped by a look from his dad. "And it's not your fault, either."

"I know that," Kurt said without really feeling it. "But it's something I have to do anyway. I can't stand by and let that happen to him — to anyone."

"Does Karofsky even want your help?" Finn asked.

Kurt only had a moment to marvel at the incisiveness of this question before answering. "Not exactly, but—"

"Then what can we do?" Carole said. "We're not his parents."

"Look, Kurt," Burt said, "even if the Karofsky kid does need help, why does it have to be you who gives it? There are other options, you know. We could talk to other parents, go to the city if it's really serious..."

" _If_ it's serious?" Kurt repeated in disbelief. "And no, it has to be me. No one else will _understand_..."

"Well, I don't," Burt said.

"I didn't think you would," Kurt replied, "because you've never had to think about this. But I have." He opened his laptop. "That's why I'd like to show you some videos."

"Aw, man..."

"Stop whining and watch, Finn." He hit the trackpad and turned the screen towards them.

What followed was a series of news stories and documentary clips about gay conversion therapy — tales of physical and psychological abuse, suicide attempts, permanent mental trauma. Weeping teenagers, haunted adults, family members drowning in guilt... Their words, their stories, paraded by the stunned viewers in a seemingly endless array.

And the voices... so many voices...

 _"... said I needed to repent..."_

 _"... told me I was weak, and the weakness had to be scourged from me..."_

 _"... back in those days, electroshock therapy was in vogue..."_

 _"... prayed for hours and hours until I could barely talk..."_

 _"... knew I was dirty and perverted and evil..."_

With each minute that passed, Burt grew paler, Carole's grip on her son's arm grew tighter, and Finn's eyes widened.

 _"... made me have sex with her to make me straight..."_

 _"... wouldn't let me leave..."_

 _"... all kinds of drugs..."_

 _"... it was a stranger who came back from that camp — not my little girl..."_

 _"... just wanted to end it all..."_

"Turn it off." Burt's voice was strained and hoarse. "Turn it off. Please." Kurt did. "My God... Kurt, if I ever, _ever_ made you think I'd _ever_ let anything like that happen to you..."

"Was all that shit real?" Finn said in a kind of perverse, disbelieving wonder. "People actually _do_ those kinds of things? To kids? And Karofsky's parents want to do that to _him_?"

"Like that minister said, suffering of the flesh is nothing if you save the soul," Kurt said bitterly.

Carole was the one who got to the point, albeit with trembling lower lip. But her voice was steady. "What do you need us to do, Kurt?"

Kurt held back the smile and sigh of relief. Now was the time for serious talk. "I'm not going to get into a lot of details, because I want to give you as much plausible deniability as I can..."

"Plausible deniability?" Burt repeated. "Kurt, what are you thinking of doing?"

"What needs to be done," Kurt said simply. "I'm going to do it with or without you, no matter what you do to try to stop me, but I'm much more likely to succeed and stay out of trouble if I have your help." Kurt didn't know what his face looked like in that moment, or what his family saw in it, but whatever it was, it must've been true, felt true, because no one attempted to argue. "Okay, there are a few things I need to discuss, but most of what I need has to come from you, Finn."

Finn blinked. "Me?"

"I'm afraid you have the deepest role in this besides me," Kurt said with genuine regret. "But I need your help. As your brother and your friend, I need your help."

It took only a bare moment for Finn to nod firmly. "Whatever it is, you've got it."

This time, Kurt let the smile shine through.

* * *

Getting the rest of what he needed was surprisingly simple. Acting on a hunch, Kurt next turned to Rachel, and she did not disappoint; she immediately promised to help in whatever way she could. With both Finn and Rachel on his side, the rest of the dominoes fell quickly, even if not easily. Mike was the next easiest to convince. Santana had to be worked on, but not nearly as much as Kurt had thought. Puck was the toughest nut to crack, as he'd expected. Even after showing him the videos, he was still reluctant.

"What you're planning... it's _super_ shady, man. And if I get caught..."

Kurt nodded. "You'll probably be in more trouble than even I am. I'll understand if you say no, Puck. But we could really use your help on this."

"You saw the videos, dude," Finn chimed in. "I couldn't live with myself knowing what Karofsky's going through, even if he was an asshole to us. It's not just Kurt who needs you. It's me. _I_ need you."

There was a long silence. Then Puck managed to crack a weak smile. "Man, Finn... You sure you're not the one who needs the straight camp?" Both Kurt and Finn laughed — tremulous and short, but laughed nonetheless. "Seriously, though, guys, if you just need muscle..."

"It'd be useful, yes, but it's not all we need," Kurt said. "We also need someone we know we can trust. Someone who's had experience with, ah..." He trailed off, flushing.

Puck grinned wryly. "Experience with being a criminal?"

"Well, you have to admit that having a devious mind around will be useful." Kurt hoped he sounded sufficiently embarrassed; God knew he felt it. "We could get someone who fits one bill or the other, but you're..."

"The complete package." Puck's grin grew wider, his tone more smug.

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but I suppose it does fit." Something inside Kurt was starting to loosen, though he wouldn't have been able to articulate what it was or how if he were asked. So he just rolled with it. "You don't have to answer right now, but we'll need an answer soon. Please, just don't tell anyone until—"

"I'll do it." Kurt wondered if he was as startled as Finn looked. "At least if I go back to juvie, it'll be for a good cause."

"Th-that was fast," Finn stammered. "What made you change your mind?"

Kurt almost elbowed Finn for asking questions, but Puck just grinned and shrugged. "Maybe I'll tell you sometime." He clapped his hands together. "Man, this is kind of exciting. It's like an _Ocean's Eleven_ movie or something! Okay, Mr. Mastermind, what's our first move?"

Kurt had to admit to himself that he wasn't expecting it to be so easy. There was still a lot of tension in the glee club; wasn't something this very Noah Puckerman said that drove him to Dalton and arguably began this whole mess to begin with? But maybe all they needed was a rallying point, something to unite over besides a lust for a championship and a nebulous love of music.

That Dave Karofsky ended up being that rallying point was an irony that he wasn't sure he appreciated.

"All right, as I told you, I've got the general strokes of what I want to do. It's how to implement that's the issue. Here's a rough outline of what I'm thinking — make any suggestions you think of. First, what we need is..."

* * *

Santana's father was a doctor, so she was able to get... discreet access to certain drugs (when asked exactly how, she simply arched an eyebrow and asked, "You sure you want to know?"; Kurt was not). She also volunteered to be part of the final group. Mike, Finn, and Puck rounded out that group, along with Kurt, of course.

The hardest part was, obviously, finding a proper base of operations. That was where Rachel came in; one of her uncles owned a cabin not far from Grand Lake that was perfectly isolated, not to mention large — two bedrooms and a living room big enough for at least three people to crash in at night. It was so absolutely perfect that Kurt almost began thinking that his mission was getting divine aid — ironic thought, that. If they hadn't been able to find a suitable base, he would've had to rethink his entire plan, and there might not have been enough time; they were working on a tight deadline as it was.

But the cabin was quickly secured with just a few phone calls from Rachel, and everything was set. Kurt's parents would provide the cover they needed for their absence (hopefully, they wouldn't need more time, but they had at least a little flexibility). Rachel offered to ask assistance from her dads, but Kurt declined; the fewer people in on the plot, especially adult authority figures, the better. Besides, they could be a good trump card should worse come to worse.

The worst... Kurt shuddered every time he thought of that. Yet his thoughts weren't of himself, stuck in some juvenile detention hellhole, but of a zombified Dave Karofsky wandering dazed through life, a bubbly and ignorant wife on his elbow and kids he couldn't quite connect with for reasons he would never admit to himself... There was many a night between his confrontation with Dave and the day of action that he wiped away tears at the mental images.

The day of action was the following week, the day before Karofsky was to leave for the camp (a day discreetly ferreted out with a few choice questions to neighbors and friends of friends of the family). Somehow, everything got pulled together just in time, and they were ready as they were ever going to get... But it could still all fall apart.

For example, Dave's parents could've decided to stay home with him, considering the upheaval his life was about to take. But Mike reported they went to work as usual, so that was one obstacle down. Another sticking point was that Dave could simply decide not to leave the house. If he didn't, that would make their next move more difficult if they didn't want to be seen. But once more, they were fortunate; Mike radioed in that Dave had just gotten into his truck.

That brought in the next difficulty: making sure that Kurt's "chance encounter" with Dave felt as accidental as possible. With no real idea of what he was planning to do with his last day free, it could involve a lot of improvisation. But Kurt actually gasped out loud at the next stroke of luck (divine aid?): Dave's first stop was to the Lima Bean.

Kurt watched Dave as he tapped out a text without taking his eyes away from the windshield: **Everything is go. I'm going in.**

He counted out ten seconds by his heartbeat, then got out of the car and strode casually across the lot into the Lima Bean. Luckily, no one had gotten into line after Dave, so he slipped in easily behind. "Karofsky?" he said, a false note of startle in his voice.

Dave almost literally jumped as he turned. "Hum—! Uh, Kurt! Hi..." He looked around, as if searching for familiar faces; fortunately, none was around to scare him off. "Um, what... are you doing here?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Getting coffee, same as you." He took a breath, physically and mentally. "Look, as long as we've run into each other, can we... talk?"

Dave shuffled his feet and lowered his eyes to the floor. "Uh, I dunno if that's such a good idea..."

"Please. It's about Father Mitchell's camp."

Dave's eyes rose; they were hard and cold. "If you think you're gonna talk me out of it..."

"Oh, no, I know I can't." _Though it would've been easier for us all if I could've. Oh well._ "I wanted to ask for more... information about it."

An odd look Kurt couldn't place sprang onto Dave's face. It was such a weird mix of emotions that he wouldn't have been surprised if Dave himself didn't know what he was feeling. "You mean...?"

Kurt shrugged. "I figured I'd at least learn why you're so interested in it."

"Seriously? I thought you were, y'know..." He shrugged. "Proud."

"Only because I've never really had a choice." It was almost physically painful, how true his thoughtlessly improvised words were. But he had no time to dwell on his own pain now. "My dad, he grew up in Lima, so..." He hated, _hated_ having that implication in the air, but the deception was necessary. "And you know how school is..." _Gah! Don't remind him of what he was like! Are you_ trying _to scare him off?_

Fortunately, Dave didn't seem to pick up on that shade of meaning. He just nodded. "Fuck, yeah, do I." He cocked his head with a frown. "You sure? You're just asking for information? You're not gonna nag me to change my mind?"

Here was a key moment. Dave's instincts were obviously, and rightfully, prickling. If he could just get through this one exchange, then everything else would fall into place... he hoped. "Promise. I won't say a word to try to change your mind during this entire conversation." _Afterward, on the other hand..._

Dave stared for another long moment. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Father Mitchell would want me to." Kurt suppressed a shudder of revulsion. "I'm gonna order first."

"Me too. Actually, since it's so crowded, why don't you find us a table and I'll bring our drinks over?"

"Okay." Kurt watched as Dave placed his drink order, then waded into the press of people in search of a place to sit. He nodded to himself, letting out a long breath. He waited for both their drinks, conscious of his pounding heart. When he had both the warm cups in his hands, he skittered to the counter with the napkins and various coffee additions. He looked around to make sure no one was around or looking, especially Dave. Then, holding his breath, he slipped a small bottle out of the inside pocket of his coat, pried the lid off of Dave's coffee, and quickly dumped the bottle's contents inside. He snatched up a stirrer and mixed the coffee vigorously, then slipped the lid back on. Then he added to his own coffee (just cream and sugar this time) and took the cups to the table where Dave was waiting.

"Here we go!" Kurt said cheerfully, handing Dave his cup. He sipped at his own coffee, watching carefully as Dave drank. "So tell me about this place." _At the least, so I can find out what I'm trying to save you from..._

"Well," Dave said, licking a drop of coffee off his upper lip, "it's got all the usual summer camp activities, but there's lots of church and classes. Duh, right? Anyway, they've got these doctors teach these therapy techniques to get your thinking on the right path. Damn, I wish I had the brochure on me..."

In reality, Kurt found himself only half-listening. One reason was that he didn't even want to consider what the camp was _really_ like, as opposed to the sunny picture Dave was drawing. Another, more important reason was that he was paying more attention to his watch, and to Dave's demeanor. Timing, Santana said, was crucial, especially since they didn't know how exactly the stuff Kurt put in Dave's coffee would affect him and when. So she briefed him on all the little physical signs he needed to watch out for — everything from the natural drooping eyelids and yawning to more subtle signs like increased blinking and lack of small movements that people normally make, like drumming fingers. She was necessarily vaguer than Kurt liked, so every synapse in his brain was on alert. Wait, did Dave just stifle a yawn? Or a belch? Goddammit, maybe he was _too_ much on alert...

After about ten minutes, he saw signs, signs that were too overt to ignore. Dave's words became hesitant. His shoulders were noticeably lower, and he began rubbing his eyes. _Now_.

Kurt rose. "This sounds very interesting, Dave. Do you think I should talk to Father Mitchell next?"

Dave automatically rose as well. "Well... Yeah. But he'd prefer that your dad be there too, so he can approve and sign paperwork and all that."

"Like I said, this is just investigation for now. Is he at St. Luke's?"

"I think so."

"Then do you mind introducing us? He knows you, so it'd make me feel more comfortable."

"I... Okay."

When they stepped out into the parking lot, Dave let rip with a long, wide yawn. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired all of a sudden."

"You've had a rough few months. Must be an emotional thing."

"I guess." He yawned again.

Kurt pretended to examine Dave's face. "You don't look so good. Maybe I should drive us." Here was another critical moment. Who knew what Dave's judgment would be like — if it took too much persuasion, things could become even more complicated.

"No, I'm fine, I can..." He rubbed his face with both hands. "Aw, man..."

"Look, I have no idea where St. Luke's is, and you look dead on your feet. You can give me directions, and you can take a nap in the car while I talk to Father Mitchell. Then I can drive you back here and you can pick up your car if you feel up to it. I don't want you getting into an accident, and you definitely look like you will if you try driving."

Dave blinked in the bright sun overhead. "I... Okay. Yeah. Maybe that's a good idea."

"I know it's a good idea," Kurt said as he let out a relieved breath. He gently led Dave to his car; he practically had to put on his seat belt for him. "Just relax, Dave. Just relax..." By the time he climbed into the driver's seat, Dave's head was already leaned back, his eyes closed.

Kurt tapped out a text: **Success. This is your last chance to back out.**

The responses he got were unanimous:

 **i promised u. im in this.**

 **no way**

 **You aren't getting rid of me that easily.**

 **Someone has to keep you guys out of trouble.**

His heart warmed, Kurt backed out of his parking space and drove himself and a snoozing Dave away from the Lima Bean — and towards a future he dearly wished he could see.

* * *

When consciousness finally began seeping into Dave's brain, it was, at first unwelcome. He'd been having such a nice nap, such nice dreams... He just wanted to go back to sleep. He leaned back and burrowed comfortably under his blanket.

Blanket...?

He cracked open his eyelids. Yes, that was a soft, comfortable quilt pulled over him. Come to think of it, it didn't feel like a car seat he was sitting in...

No, it was definitely a recliner.

That was when he finally heard their voices.

"Check."

"Raise to 5."

"Reraise to 10."

"Fuck. Fold."

"Call."

"Fold."

That was... Kurt?

And... Hudson? Puckerman? Chang?

 _Santana_?

What the fuck...?

Now fully alert, his eyes flew open, and the quilt flew off his knees. He was in some kind of big room made of wood: wooden flooring, exposed wooden rafters, wooden walls. His recliner was in a corner of the room; in the center was a large wooden table, at which were sitting Kurt Hummel, Finn Hudson, Noah Puckerman, Michael Chang, and Santana Lopez. Not one of them was even glancing in his direction, engrossed in the cards in their hands and the pile of chips in the middle of the table.

"And the river is... Ooo, interesting. Santana?"

"Check."

"Bet 20."

"Raise to 50."

"Damn. Hmm."

"Well, Mike?"

"Umm... Call. What do you have?"

"Jack high straight."

"Damn!" Mike tossed his cards onto the table in disgust as Santana smugly swept up the chips into the stack in front of her.

"What the _fuck_ is going on here?" Dave bellowed.

All five teenagers at the table finally turned towards him. "Well, well," Santana drawled, "look who's awake."

"Where the _hell_ am I?"

"A cabin," Finn said.

"I can see that, asshole, but _why_? Kurt, what the fuck am I doing here?"

Kurt stood. "Ah, well... You see, while we were on our way to St. Luke's, I got a call from Finn. Rachel's uncle offered to let a group of us stay at his cabin for spring break. You were interested in seeing it..."

"I was? I don't remember any of this."

Kurt shrugged casually. "Well, you were half-asleep at the time." Dave's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Anyway, we took a drive up here, but we couldn't wake you up. So we figured that we'd let you sleep, but we lost track of time, and we kind of forgot you were there..."

"I'm getting the hell out of here." Dave stalked towards the cabin door; though all of his classmates were now standing, not one of them made a move to stop him. He threw the door open and stepped outside into the sunny afternoon.

They were in the middle of the forest, nothing but trees all around him. Only a single rutted dirt "road" interrupted the rich green grass of the clearing where the cabin was built; this road disappeared into the woods through a "tunnel" that barely looked big enough to admit a good sized personal vehicle. There were no cars in sight, no noise associated with civilization — only the rustling of branches and the chirping of birds.

"What the fuck...?"

"I tried to tell you." Dave whirled to see Kurt and the others standing in the open doorway, all with odd (or in Santana's case, amused) looks on their faces. "Rachel drove us all up here in her dad's SUV; no other car would've made it through the forest. She was supposed to take you back and leave the rest of us here, but like I said, we forgot, and..." Kurt shrugged.

Dave's temples were beginning to throb. None of this... None of this made any _sense_ , but here these people were, telling him this transparent bullshit with a straight face. What the hell was going...? Wait.

"Did you...? Did you people _kidnap_ me?!"

"Of course not!" Kurt said in an offended tone. "You can leave whenever you want!"

"Except it's, like, a huge hike through the woods to get to the road," Puck said, startling Dave; he'd almost forgotten about them, so focused was he on Kurt and this... this _situation_. "And it's another few miles from there to the freeway. Assuming you don't get lost."

"And Rachel's not supposed to be back for a while," Finn said.

"And how long is 'a while'?"

"About... a week?"

"A week—! You call her and tell her to come back right now!"

"Can't," Santana said with a shit-eating grin. "We all left our phones at home."

"You left your phones at home," Dave repeated in disbelief. "Then what are you supposed to do in an emergency?"

Santana shrugged in return. "Service is crap up here anyway."

"What about the phone in the cabin?"

"There isn't any," Kurt said.

Dave's hand immediately clapped over his own jeans pocket. It was flat. "Where... where the hell is _my_ phone?!"

"Oh no!" Kurt said in horror (or what was supposed to pass for horror). "You must've dropped it in Rachel's SUV. I'm so sorry, I had no idea..."

"This is _crap_!" Dave shrieked. "All of this is crap! You're all lying to me! You fucking _kidnapped_ me!"

"And why," Kurt said mildly, "would we want to do that?"

"You... Motherf— Arrrrgh!" His fingernails were digging into his palms so deeply he was distantly surprised they weren't bleeding. Nothing — not even in the depths of his anger and self-loathing at McKinley — could match the heat of sheer, pure _rage_ that was flaring through him. He had no idea what he looked like in that moment, but he could see Hudson, Puckerman, and Chang tense. Only Kurt and Santana looked cool.

"Now that you have that out of your system," Kurt said with infuriating calm, "why don't you come back inside? There's nothing we can do now, so we might as well make the best of it."

"Fuck you," Dave snarled. "You think I'm doing what you want? No fucking way."

Kurt shrugged. "Suit yourself. We'll be inside when you calm down." He turned and reentered the cabin with Santana. The others, his teammates, took one last askance glance at him before following. Chang shut the door gently behind them.

Dave stalked around the cabin, over and over, staring at the far reaches of the clearing and peeking into windows. It was larger than he thought, so it took more time that he thought. No sign of a hidden car, no indication that anything they said about the difficulty of getting out wasn't true. But still he circled, again and again, like a caged tiger, even as the sun set. When the last fingers of crimson (kinda beautiful, Dave couldn't help but note) disappeared into the treeline and the stars sparkled above, full strength without light pollution to drown them out, Dave was huddled next to the cabin door, his arms wrapped around his chest. He shivered; he'd left the house in only a t-shirt and jeans, and it was still close enough to winter to have a distinct bite in the air. Light spilled from the cabin windows; he occasionally heard movement and muffled voices within, but nothing else.

Eventually, the cabin door creaked open, dazzling Dave's eyes with the light. Kurt peeked out; he didn't look smug anymore, just... sympathetic, maybe? Hah, his kidnapper, feeling pity for him. A bit late for that, wasn't it?

"You hungry?" he asked quietly. "You haven't eaten anything since the Lima Bean."

Dave turned away; he knew it was immature and petulant, but immature and petulant was all he had at the moment.

"Getting cold, isn't it?" Kurt continued. "Make sense, since we're out in the wilderness and all. You should come in."

"Fuck you," Dave muttered.

"Okay. I understand. But I'll be waiting for you." Kurt retreated inside and gently shut the door before he could process exactly what emotion those words stirred in him.

Dave lasted about another half hour. When he finally slunk in, head bowed in misery, only Kurt and Mike Chang were at the table; it was so perfect, in a sense, he wondered if it was deliberate. They looked up at him, but said not a word. Chang waved silently towards the small kitchen area; a large pot of what smelled like (delicious) stew still steamed on the stove. Without giving them another glance, Dave strode to the pot, ladled out a full bowl, and sat at the table, as far from either Kurt or Chang as he could, and began shoveling food into his mouth.

He ate, and they sat, in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**DAY ONE: Friday**

Santana stretched like a cat as she strolled out of the bathroom, causing her t-shirt to ride up on her belly. She got one very open leer and two glances of varying degrees of subtlety from the four young men gathered at the dining table.

"Dave still in his room?" asked Kurt, the one exception.

Santana glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah, as far as I know. No idea if he's asleep or not, though."

"Maybe he's escaped," Puck said through a mouthful of half-chewed toast; Kurt wrinkled his nose. "I told you we should've nailed the window shut."

"And gone where?" Kurt snapped. "Where can he go? That's _why_ we didn't nail the window shut. That and Rachel's uncle would've killed us."

"I still don't get why Karofsky gets a bedroom while I sleep on the floor," Puck continued — after swallowing this time, luckily for all concerned.

Kurt sighed. "I already explained all this. He needs time on his own to think; he's probably going to feel a lot of pressure from us, and he needs a break from it once in a while. Santana gets the other bedroom as the only girl..."

"That and I would've decorated my belt with your balls if you didn't," Santana said without looking away from the bowl of cereal she was pouring.

"That too. As mastermind, I get the recliner. Mike gets the couch because he fits best on it. That left the floor for you and Finn."

"Ah, we can handle it," Finn said cheerfully. "It's like camping, right? Only we don't get rained on or a million mosquito bites!" He nudged Puck in the side, nearly causing him to spill orange juice all over himself. Puck shot him a glare. "Sorry."

"So, fearless leader..." Santana began as she sat down at the table with breakfast.

"Ooo, I like the sound of that," Kurt said. "Say it again."

Santana rolled her eyes and continued. "... What do we do now that we have Karofsky here?"

"Don't worry; I'll most likely be doing most of the heavy lifting from here on in. You guys are just my backup and bodyguards."

Mike looked over at the still-shut bedroom door. "Think he's ever going to come out?"

"He will, eventually, if only to use the bathroom and eat. It'll take him a couple of days to get used to this situation. That's why I had us start before spring break began; we'll need all the time we can get."

"You really think this'll work?" It was Puck who asked the question; Kurt hadn't been sure if it would be him or Santana to ask it first.

Kurt sighed. "I think so. I hope so. But there aren't any guarantees. For his sake and ours..." He trailed off. How could he possibly complete that sentence without casting an even greater pall over the room than the one he'd just created?

Santana cocked her head and stared at him, which always made him uncomfortable. "You know..." she said in a neutral tone that could've meant anything, "I almost think you're more worried about his sake than yours."

"I am." Kurt was as surprised as anyone that the answer came so quickly, so firmly, but it did — because it was the truth. "I know I can handle anything that happens to me if things go south. But Karofsky... I can't imagine what will happen to him in Father Mitchell's straight camp." He shook his head. "Actually, no, I _can_... And that's worse."

Despite his best efforts, the pall deepened; he could almost physically feel it now.

"You really think you can convince Karofsky that being gay is all joy and rainbows?" Santana asked, staring down into her cereal bowl as she stirred the soggy remnants of her raisin bran around and around and around. "You know it's not."

"No, it's not," Kurt said. "That's why I'm going to be honest that it's not. But I'm also going to be honest about what's waiting for him in that camp, and that if being gay isn't all 'joy and rainbows', it's not the end of the world either, and that he's better off accepting the way he is than trying to change it. Especially that way." He sucked in a breath. "I have nine days to do it — maybe a few more if our parents can buy us time with school. I have confidence I can do it." _Because_ someone _has to._

A pained creaking noise interrupted them; they immediately dropped the chatter, focusing on their food. A bleary eyed Dave shuffled out of the bedroom. He wore the t-shirt he'd had on the day previous, along with a pair of Rachel's uncle's shorts ("What a coincidence!" Kurt chirped. "He's just your size!"). He didn't say anything, or even look at the group at the table. He merely walked past them and knelt in front of the cold fireplace, using the poker to shove aside a couple of heavy logs. Then he stood and opened a box on the mantel, peeking inside. Then he rummaged through the books on a small bookshelf, ignoring the puzzled looks from his fellow classmates.

"Uh, Dave...?" Kurt said, because of course it had to be him to say something — him or Santana. "What are you doing?"

Dave didn't even turn around, instead lifting a framed print away from the wall. "Looking for the phone. I know you guys have one."

Despite himself, Kurt grinned behind Dave's back; the others followed suit. This had been a topic of lively discussion; it was one of the more — dare he say it — fun parts of planning this whole thing. But then, Kurt had always loved mysteries, treasure hunts, and keeping secrets. "Assuming we lied to you... Assuming we did have a phone, and hid it... You really think we'd make it easy for you to find?"

"Got nothing else to do." There was something in those words... The pall returned. Finn coughed.

Dave's search was slow and methodical; Kurt hadn't believed the guy had it in him to be slow and methodical. The group at the table watched in silence as Dave made his way into the kitchen area. There, he paused at the counter, in front of the boxes of cereal, half-empty carton of eggs that someone (Finn) forgot to put back in the refrigerator, and open package of bacon (ditto). He stood there staring for a long moment, as if searching for answers in the brightly colored box of Fruity Pebbles. Finally, he snatched up one of the cereal boxes, opened a cabinet, took out a bowl (but not before briefly pushing them aside to check for a phone), and poured himself some breakfast. Then he went to the refrigerator, took out the milk (again, peeking here and there for the phone; it didn't take long with the size of the fridge), poured some in his cereal, and slammed the carton down onto the counter next to the eggs and bacon (probably deliberately, Kurt decided). He opened a drawer, frowned, then opened another drawer. From this one he took out a spoon, walked right by the table without a word or a glance, and disappeared back into his bedroom. The five other teenagers jumped at the sharp crack of the door slamming behind him.

"That went well," Santana said sarcastically.

"Like I said, I expected as much," Kurt said. "We need to give him time."

"You know he could just shut himself in and mope for weeks," Finn said. "I might, if I were him."

"I know. But I'm guessing..." _Hoping..._ "... That there's some part of him who doesn't really want to do what his parents want him to do, and he just needs someone to talk him into it. Show him that there's actually life outside the closet. I just need to get in touch with that part of him."

"You'd better," Santana said, "or we may all wind up with criminal records before we turn 18."

"Thank you so much for reminding me," Kurt said snidely. "I'd forgotten about that."

"The stakes are high, Kurt," she replied, and Kurt wasn't sure what got across how serious she was: her tone — flat and rigid — or the fact that she actually used his name and not some Sylvester-esque belittling insult. "You'd better be right about all this, and do whatever it takes to get there. Not just for Karofsky — for all of us. We agreed to do this because we..." She swallowed; her next words were a little strained, as if they were physically painful to say. "Because we trusted you. Don't screw this up, because this isn't just about one gay guy in a closet anymore. It's about our futures — yours, mine, Karofsky's, all of ours."

It was chilling whenever Kurt thought about just how much he was gambling on this throw of the dice. This moment was no exception. It wasn't the first time he'd thought about it — not by far. He almost, _almost_ hoped as he gathered his "crew" that they would refuse; then he'd be the only one going down if anything went wrong. But their stubborn refusal to leave his side was at once heartwarming and terrifying in its responsibility — responsibility, his mind constantly reminded itself, he took on with his eyes wide open.

But if he had the chance to revisit his decision, would he still do it?

Damn right he would.

The day passed slowly — very slowly. Occasionally, someone (not Dave) would wander outside to enjoy the views or the weather, but not for long. Finn and Puck passed the time playing cards and listening to music (a fact which interested Dave, until he clearly saw they were using dedicated MP3 players). Santana watched videos on a tablet (after it took a full five minutes to convince Dave that it had no Internet access). Mike studied at the dining table.

"Really, man?" Puck asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You don't know how many lies I had to tell my dad to be here," Mike replied with a shake of his head. "If I don't ace these tests when I get back, he's gonna know something was up."

As for Kurt himself, he brought magazines to read, not to mention whatever he saved on his laptop (again, perused suspiciously by Dave for any hint of Internet access — there was none). One of those things was the videos he'd shown his family and friends, but Dave had already refused to watch those.

In fact, the door to Dave's room had not so much as cracked open since lunch, retrieved and eaten in his room like breakfast. About an hour and a half passed in silence after that last appearance. Puck was napping on the couch. Finn was playing solitaire across the table from the still studying Mike. Santana was doing her nails while Kurt read in the recliner.

The break was startling in its suddenness. Santana threw her nail file onto the floor with a clatter. Everyone looked up at her, except for Puck; the sound didn't pierce his unconsciousness.

"I can't believe we're just sitting here like a bunch of idiots," she griped.

"Do you think you can convince Dave to listen to us at this point?" Kurt asked dryly. "If so, you're more than welcome to try."

"Hey, this isn't _my_ rodeo."

"I know. You keep reminding me. Now if you want to do something, are you going to do it, or just complain?"

There was no answer at first; Kurt nodded in smug satisfaction and went back to his magazine. Seconds later, he was once again jarred from it by Santana's quiet voice. "Okay. Yeah. I get it. I just... I don't know what to do." _Ohmigod, that almost sounds like... an apology._ He was even more stunned when Santana said, "I'm scared, okay?" She didn't even seem to notice the stares from the others (again, besides Puck) — if she did, she didn't acknowledge them. "I don't want all of this to be for nothing."

"Santana..." What the hell could he say at this point, when he wasn't even sure what exactly it was that was driving Santana Lopez of all people down this mental path? "Let me worry about Dave. Just worry about yourself." _You're good at it._

But instead of leaping at the suggestion, Santana said, "That's the fucked up part: I can't."

If Kurt didn't know what to say before, he _definitely_ didn't know what to say now. Santana merely reached down to the floor, picked up her file, and riveted her attention back to her nails. Eventually, the others drifted back to whatever they were doing. Not Kurt, though. He sat there, watching Santana, for almost half an hour, thinking thoughts too jumbled to share with anyone else, even if they weren't so rooted in base emotions that paralyzed him.

Before he knew it, it was past six. If Kurt didn't know better, he might've toyed with the idea that Santana deliberately instigated all that just to help time pass. Dave hadn't been out of the room since lunch, and the sun was getting low in the sky — almost time for dinner. He got up; the others, including a now awake Puck, watched as he went to the back of the short hallway behind them and knocked gently on a closed door.

"Dave?" No answer, of course. "Dave, are you hungry?"

There were sounds coming from inside — mutters or sobs. He couldn't tell which, if either; they were too muffled.

"Dave, can I come in?" Still no answer. "Okay. But if you... if you need anything, I'll be right outside, okay?" This time, Kurt didn't wait for a reply he knew wouldn't come. He silently returned to the living room, to the stares of his peers. "I'll start dinner," he said to them. Then he shuffled into the kitchen, hoping to lose himself in chopping and simmering and washing.

It worked. For a while.

If Dave left his room at any time that night — and he had to have, at some point, if only to go to the bathroom — Kurt never heard it.

* * *

 **DAY TWO: Saturday**

The door creaked open. Kurt fought the urge to spring on his feet as violently as his ears had sprung to life at the sound. He managed to remain sitting, his face schooled into calm, as a bleary eyed Dave shuffled into the living room, still wearing the same clothes as the day before. He looked around, at Mike listening to his MP3 player on the other side of the couch, at Santana in the recliner. "Where's Hudson and Puckerman?" he rumbled.

"Outside," Kurt said simply. No sense going into greater detail than that; the last thing Kurt wanted was to plant the idea in Dave's mind that he might find other people if he walked down the right trail long enough. He just might try it. "Probably throwing around the football or something else equally primitive."

"Man, you're a snotty bitch, aren't you?" There wasn't so much as a prickle in Kurt's spine — or from the looks of it, anyone else's, except maybe a small smirk on Santana's face. Maybe it was because of the complete lack of heat or energy in the words. Maybe because despite that, they were the most genuine words Dave Karofsky had said to anyone since his "arrival." For whatever reason, they stirred just the tiniest embers of hope within Kurt's chest.

Not that Dave followed this up with any more reason to hope. As with the previous day, he said not another word after that. He fixed himself some breakfast and went back to his room. Santana fixed Kurt with a _look_ ; Kurt returned a _look_ right back, daring her to say something. To her credit, and Kurt's mild surprise, she didn't, merely nodding, as if satisfied that the message was sent without further words being necessary, and returned to her movie.

That was when Kurt realized he was tired of waiting. Maybe it wasn't the safest or smartest play, but he was sick of being reactive. He had to at least _try_ to start the ball rolling, or he'd drive himself insane. His only worry: that Santana would think it was her influence driving him. So he first went into the kitchen area, and did some busywork straightening up and putting away dishes. After a few minutes passed, he glanced into the living room; Mike and Santana were still in their own little worlds. So he strode into the hall before either of them could even think of looking up and approached Dave's door.

That was when he saw it was ajar, just the tiniest sliver.

This could've been an accident, Kurt told himself. Dave could've been too hungry or distracted to notice that he didn't shut the door all the way. But, another, sunnier part of Kurt told him (damn that sunny side of his) that this could be a _sign_ , unconscious or otherwise. This could be a _signal_.

This could be the opening Kurt was looking for.

He took a moment to collect himself and tamp down his excitement. Then he gently knocked on the door; it shifted open even more under his fist.

"Dave? David? Can... can I come in?" There was no answer, which was both a bad and good sign at once — after all, he _had_ to notice by now that the door wasn't completely closed. "I'm coming in. If you don't want me to, I'll leave, but... I'd like to talk, if you don't mind." Again, no answer. Steeling himself, Kurt pushed open the door.

The room, to his relief, looked pretty much as it had before Dave "moved in"; he wasn't sure why he was relieved — was he actually concerned that Dave would trash it in frustration and rage? Dave himself was sitting in a chair in front of a small table by one of the windows that served dual purpose as a bedside end table — natural, considering the lack of space. He was staring out the window, a clean plate laying forgotten on the table in front of him. He didn't so much as turn at Kurt's entrance; if he didn't know better, he would've assumed Dave didn't hear him.

Kurt looked around for something to sit on; there was nothing, except for the chair Dave was sitting in. He considered getting a chair from the living room, but there was something about this moment that he couldn't let pass by. So instead, he gently shut the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed on the opposite side of the table. Dave's faraway gaze didn't waver from the window.

Morning light poured through the glass, casting Dave's face in an almost blinding white glow. Kurt waited with far more patience than he'd thought possible; it was only Dave's occasional blinks that told him that the young man on the other side of the table wasn't a wax statue that he'd cast somehow as a decoy while he escaped.

Finally, after minutes that stretched like hours, Dave turned slowly, painfully, towards him. "Please," he said in a rough voice. "Please let me go."

"I told you, Dave," Kurt replied, "you're free to leave anytime you want."

"Yeah, if I want to risk getting lost in the goddamn forest," Dave snorted. "I know you guys have a phone or something. Just let me use it. Let me call my dad, and I promise, I won't say anything to anyone."

"I don't know why you think we're lying to you. Why would we do that?"

"Good question," Dave rasped. "Why are you doing this?"

"We wanted to go somewhere interesting for spring break," Kurt said calmly. "Your getting caught up in it was unfortunate, seeing as how you're bringing down the mood, but—"

"Stop it." Dave's voice, and his fists atop the table, grew tight. Kurt somehow found himself much less frightened than he would've been mere weeks ago. "Just... stop it." He sucked in a deep breath. "You think I'm stupid."

"Maybe once," Kurt admitted, "but I've stopped making assumptions about people like that. I've learned that doing that is just as stupid." There was a lot more Kurt wanted to say — a _lot_ more — but he had to take it slow, as much as he hated it. So he simply waited for Dave to speak again.

He didn't wait long. "Please... just tell me. Tell me what you want, for God's sake." His desperation was so pathetic that Kurt's stomach clenched. "Is this about me being..." He swallowed audibly. "Being..."

"Being what, Dave?" Kurt wasn't trying to be coy, as much as he knew he sounded like it; hearing the words from Dave himself, having Dave say it, could be important. Without knowing what went on in the Karofsky house (just considering it made his stomach clench again), making Dave say it out loud could be nothing... or everything.

"Being a fag," Dave finally whispered.

"I wish you wouldn't use that word," Kurt said quietly.

"What, _fag_?" Dave said bitterly. "Isn't that what you wanted to hear from me? The truth? That I'm a fag, I'm a fag, I'm a _fucking_ fag..." He pounded his fists against the table, eyes tightly shut. The plate rattled from the impact. Kurt watched, outwardly calm. He'd known this kind of step was probably necessary, but that didn't mean that watching it was a comfortable or cheerful experience. It took a long minute, and some violent wiping of his eyes, for Dave to look up again. "Well, I am. All my reasons to deny it blew up weeks ago. Are you happy?"

"Do I look happy?"

Not what Kurt had planned to say, but it somehow seemed to have the desired effect; Dave almost looked _startled_. But he quickly regained what little composure he had. "Well, why the hell not? You won. You fucking won. Everybody hates me now."

"Including your parents?"

"No, they love me. That's why they're helping me so I can be fucking _fixed_."

Kurt leaped to his feet. "Dave, there's nothing to _fix_."

Dave smiled humorlessly. "Finally, we drop the fucking act. Anyway, that's such bullshit, I'm surprised you even bothered to say it. If there was nothing to 'fix,' none of this would've happened. I wouldn't have bullied you and harassed you and kissed..." The word died before it was fully spoken, but it was clear nevertheless. "Was any of what I did normal? Or sane?" Kurt opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. "See? Tell me again I don't need to be fixed."

"Okay," Kurt managed to say, "maybe you do have... problems." He winced, but went on regardless. Maybe Dave wouldn't notice. "But being gay is not one of them."

"Oh, so there's some _other_ reason I've become a fucking pariah at McKinley." Dave shook his head. "How can you _say_ that bullshit, Kurt? You _know_. You know what it's like. I know you do — I... I was a big part of it." He glared at Kurt. "Do _not_ tell me that this is good. Do _not_ tell me that this is okay. Do _not_ tell me I'm better off for it or some crap like that. Because it's _not_. It's _not_ , and we both know you know it's not."

"That's not true," Kurt said. "I know you've suffered because of who you are, and so have I, but that's not my fault, nor is it yours. Are you saying that I _deserved_ what you did to me? Because I'm a 'fag'?"

Dave's eyes widened. "No, but—"

"Then why is it yours for what happened to you? Get this through your skull, Karofsky: we are the _same_. You and me, we are the _same_ , no matter how different we look, no matter how different our lives are. If you 'deserve' what happened to you, then so did I, and I am _not_ going to let you, of all people, tell me that I did." The words were flooding out of him, faster than he could think about them. Maybe if he could've, he wouldn't have said them. But his passion and frustration swept him away on a tide he wasn't sure he wanted to fight. "If there's something wrong with you, there's something wrong with me, and I _know_ there's nothing wrong with me."

"Isn't that why you outed me?" Dave said bitterly. "To punish me? Show me what it's like to be you?"

Kurt gaped in horror. "No! No, no, no...! I did that because I was trying to protect myself!"

"Oh, yeah, I did say I'd kill you, didn't I?" Dave said dully. "And you think I didn't deserve this?"

"Not because you're gay. _Never_ because you're gay. And what's happening to you... It shouldn't happen to anyone. Ever. It's _them_ , Dave, the people abusing you. They're the defective ones. Not you, and not me."

"So, what, my parents are abusing me too?"

 _Yes_ _!_ Kurt wanted to scream. But even in his mental state, he realized that would likely be counterproductive. Instead, he said, "No, they just don't understand."

"And you do."

"You know I do."

"Yeah. That's why I did it."

"Did what?"

"Did all of it. Bullied you. Kissed you. Threatened you. Because I knew you understood, and... and I hated you for it." Dave looked up at him, as if waiting for Kurt to ask him to clarify. But Kurt did understand — all too well, he understood. "Why do you even care?"

"I told you, nobody should—"

"Bullshit, again. Stop lying to me, Hummel. You shouldn't care. Not after what I did to you. None of you should. This... People do not _do_ this. If you'd kidnapped me to kill me and bury me in the woods, I could actually understand that. But this... You _should not care_. Why should you?"

Kurt very distinctly heard an echo in those words: _Why should anyone?_ He felt almost nauseous, but still drew himself up as best he was able. "I thought you'd know by now that I'm unique and special." Dave muffled a snort between tight lips; it was a soft sound, but it buoyed Kurt more than he'd thought possible. "But if you really insist on asking, think about it like this: we both know that there are too few people out there who support people like us, so it's our responsibility to stick together." He wasn't sure if divorcing this whole matter from Dave as a person would help or not, but frankly, he was getting a little desperate at this point. "And what happens at those camps... David, I would not wish that on _anybody_ , no matter who they are or what they did."

"I don't understand you, Hummel," Dave said almost plaintively.

"Obviously, or you would've known to just talk to me to begin with. But now that you're here... Maybe now you can start to understand me. And maybe I could start to understand you."

"And what good would it do? Even if you did somehow convince me that being... like _this_ is okay... that's not gonna stop my mom from sending me to Father Mitchell's camp."

"You underestimate me, Mr. Karofsky." He swept the plate out from under Dave; he had a feeling that Dave had had all he could handle for now — mostly because Kurt was nearing emotional exhaustion himself. "I'm going to wash up. If you feel like joining us for lunch like a civilized human being, we'd love to see you. Otherwise... just think about this: suppose you're right. Suppose we kidnapped you and brought you up here to convince you not to try to fix your sexuality, all despite the fact you've bullied us in the past. You asked us why? Maybe you should try to answer that question for yourself."

Kurt left the room; the second the door shut behind him, he let out a deep breath, almost a sigh. There were no questions from the others, including the returned Finn and Puck, as he emerged into the living room — a relief, because he didn't think he had any answers to give.

The questions, though, were there nonetheless; they just waited. It was at dinner, and still no one had seen more than brief flashes of Dave. Mike was the one who broached the issue. "What do you think, Kurt?"

Kurt carefully put down his fork. "I think... I think he's got a lot to think about, and that he's thinking about them."

"And then what?"

"Then... the hard part begins."

* * *

 **DAY THREE: Sunday**

Kurt was convinced that it was time to tackle the issue head on when Dave came out of his room that morning. At first, he followed the pattern: getting himself some breakfast and retreating to his room, not looking at or talking to anyone. But about forty five minutes later, as Mike and Finn were doing the breakfast dishes, Dave appeared again, this time wearing shoes and jeans and a different t-shirt. Kurt gaped, as did the others.

"Gotta get out of that room for a while," he muttered to no one in particular. He went out the front door and slammed it behind him.

Glances were exchanged; Kurt's pulse quickened. The pattern had finally been broken — maybe now was the time. Without a word to anyone, he snatched up his laptop. He could feel the eyes of the others on him as he hurried out the door.

Dave couldn't go far, and didn't. He was sitting on a large stump on the west edge of the clearing, his forearms resting on his knees. He didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular — just staring off into space, or maybe the clear blue sky above. He didn't look up as Kurt approached, or even acknowledge his presence, even as Kurt sat next to him.

"I'd like to show you something, okay?" Kurt said gently. "I'd like to show you what those camps really do to people." He didn't get a reply, so he merely hit play on the video software and turned the laptop screen towards Dave, away from the sun to minimize glare.

There was still glare, but the content came through loud and clear. Kurt could _see_ Dave's face shift, pale, and twist all through the clips. When it was done, Kurt merely closed the laptop and waited for Dave to respond.

It took a while, but not long. "I..." He had to start again. "They can't all be like that."

"Funny, then, how consistent the stories are."

"Father Mitchell's different," Dave said insistently, though who he was trying to convince was a toss-up. "He's known me my whole life!"

"So has your mother," Kurt pointed out.

Apparently, a little more acid had leaked into his voice than he'd intended. "Don't talk about my mom that way!" Dave snapped. Kurt winced; he'd almost fallen into dangerous territory there. _Think before you talk, you idiot!_ "You don't know anything about her!"

"No, I don't. So educate me."

"... What?"

"You want to convince me that what you're wanting to do is okay? You want to convince me you're fine, and don't need any intervention? Then tell me about yourself. Tell me about your family."

"You already know me. You've known me for years now."

"Not really. We were never in the same... social circles. And you were always... quiet." Kurt paused as he mused over this realization. "I might not have ever known who you were if you weren't friends with Azimio Adams. He's quite the loudmouth."

"Yes, he is," Dave said bitterly.

 _Dammit, I thought I told you to think before you talk, Hummel!_ Kurt swallowed his frustration and continued. "Besides, I think if the past month or two has taught me nothing else, it's that you're a very different person than I thought, so I feel like I'm starting at square one here." Dave still looked hesitant, so Kurt went for the throat. "If you give me some context, maybe I'll realize that you're right — that you really can be fixed. Then there'd be no reason for you to hang around here. Then maybe..." He shrugged, leaving the rest hanging in the air, hoping Dave was desperate enough to jump.

He was. "My mom... She's real religious," he said quietly, looking down at his hands resting on his knees. "Always has been. But she doesn't think I'm diseased or a pervert!" he hastened to add, as if it were vitally important Kurt know that. "She loves me."

"I'm sure she does. I'm sure she wants what's best for you. But that's what _she_ wants — what _she_ thinks is best. What do _you_ think?"

"I think... you already know that."

Kurt remembered the previous day all too well. "So you still think you need to be 'fixed' if you want a life? Are you so desperate that you'll go through what the people in those videos went through on the slim hope that you can learn to love women?"

"Why not? Everything I heard there... It's not much worse than what'll happen to me if I do nothing." The words, the tone, were so bleak that it sounded almost obscene to Kurt's ears. How had he not seen any of this all this time? How could he have been so close to something like this, but been so completely ignorant?

"What about your dad?" Kurt asked, trying to get his thoughts out of that direction.

"Well... He's not a big church guy like Mom. But he loves her so much, he follows her lead in everything..."

"So that's why he's allowing your mother to send you to that camp?"

Dave paused in thought. "Actually... I'm not exactly sure he thinks it'll work. I think he was just so desperate to get me out of McKinley that he would've sent me to Siberia if he thought it'd help stop all the shit that was happening to me." Kurt nodded to himself. "What was that?"

"What?"

"That nod just now."

 _Huh. He's smarter than he looks._ "Nothing. Not right now, at least."

Dave looked ready to challenge, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he said, "I have an older brother. Jack. Hippie liberal. He's going to college in California."

"You talk to him a lot?"

"No. Last time we really talked, it... wasn't really good. I was still angry about a lot of things, and..." Dave shook his head and sighed. "We haven't talked since, not even at holidays. Not that he comes by much anyway; he and Mom don't get along real well."

"But if he's a 'hippie liberal,' then he must understand..."

"Look, he hates me, okay, so chill the fuck out about him." Kurt was about to protest, but decided that could wait, especially when Dave then said, "A lot of shit went down after you outed me."

Here it was: the part Kurt had been dreading all along. At least he was about to get it over with. He steeled himself and prompted, "I can imagine."

"I kept it quiet for a long time. It's not like my parents look at my Facebook page a lot. I just set everything to private and deleted the crap. If you could've read what some of 'em said..."

"I can imagine," Kurt repeated.

"Yeah. And these shitbags were supposed to be my friends..." He took in a deep, ragged breath. "But after Azimio gave me that black eye... I couldn't hide it anymore, especially once Sylvester called them in about it." He frowned a little. "She didn't tell them anything about why we fought, even though she knew exactly why. She just said it was a 'typical meathead butting the head of another meathead,' and that Az started it. That's all." _Huh_. Now there was new and interesting information. He didn't know what exactly it meant, but he filed it away for potential future development. "Not that it mattered. They were paying attention now, and it didn't take them long to find out."

"Then what?" Kurt asked quietly — not because he wanted to know, but because he had to.

"The shit hit the fan, of course. Not that it was real big — my mom just cried a lot. Then she told me that she could fix everything..."

"Fix you."

Dave ignored the interruption. "Father Mitchell was real nice too. Real kind. Told me everything would be all right. Told me not to pay attention to people who 'didn't have faith.' Said I'd be treated like 'the fine young man I am,' that Mom wouldn't let him do anything that would hurt me. 'Just trust me, son.' So... I did." Dave shrugged, like it was no big deal.

"And what do you want?"

"What I want is for my fucking brain to work like it's supposed to. What I want is to be able to live without people judging me or beating me up or making me miserable. What I want is to _not be fucking gay_. What I want is to have my old life back. The life I'm supposed to have."

"The one where you were so angry at the world and yourself that you took it out on people who had nothing to do with your pain?" Dave froze, which was so much more than what he would've done just a few months ago that Kurt was actually encouraged. "David... I think it's clear that the swaggering bully jock you were presenting yourself as these past couple of years was just pretense, and that you were miserable doing it. Instead of trying to recapture those days, maybe... maybe it's time trying to be yourself."

"Oh, yeah, and who is that? Do you know? Because I sure the fuck don't. And what's so great about being me, huh? Is it going to keep me dry at school? My mom from crying every time she looks at me? My dad giving me that look of disappointment? Tell me, Kurt: what about me is worth all that?"

Dave only gave him seconds to think of an answer. "I..." But he couldn't, he couldn't boil down all those complexities and emotions into a neat little package, not just in a few seconds.

So Kurt watched helplessly as Dave rose from the stump. "That's what I thought." He strode back into the cabin. By the time Kurt recovered from his shock and self-recriminations and followed, Dave was back in his room.

But still, Kurt told himself (and the others), this was still a step. Dave actually talked, actually _listened_. He could leverage this. Even if there'd been a setback (which he was unwilling to concede there was, given where they'd started), it gave him time to think about his next move.

Everything was on schedule. You can't undo a lifetime's upbringing quickly. You just can't. Everything was going to be fine.

Yes, everything was going to be fine...

Everything was going to be fine...


	4. Chapter 4

**DAY FOUR: Monday**

Somebody was going to snap sooner or later. Kurt knew that. There was too much pressure, too much at stake, for it not to happen. It really was a toss-up, he sometimes thought, who'd be the first: Dave or him.

It ended up being the last person he expected.

On Monday morning, Santana waylaid Kurt as he was going to the bathroom. The fact that the others were standing right behind her when she did raised all kinds of alarm bells. But he could do nothing to ease them — not with Santana in the lead, not with the somewhat frightening speed and strength with which she was dragging him to the dining room table by his wrist.

Fortunately, she got right to the point: "What can we do?"

"I told you, as the ringleader and the actual gay one here, I have to be the one to do most of the—"

"Bullshit," Santana spat. "Just because you're the only open resident of Gay Happy Rainbow Land here doesn't mean we can't pitch in."

The wording escaped Kurt at the time; he'd kick himself for that later. "No, but it does mean that I'm the most effective. I have life experience he can relate to. You don't. It's not that you're useless or anything, it's just that whatever you can say would sound more convincing coming from me—"

"I'm tired of sitting around and waiting for whatever happens," Santana interrupted. "If I'm gonna risk going to jail, I want some fucking _control_ over whether it happens or not."

"Look, I think the risks are a lot lower now than they were in the beginning..."

"And that changes any of what I said how?"

"Santana kind of has a point," Mike said quietly, and was _he_ the last one Kurt expected to speak up at this juncture. It was all too easy to think of him as a part of the scenery sometimes; he just wasn't _loud_ or _larger than life_ like most of New Directions. It was actually a little shameful. But he didn't have time to feel that shame or apologize to Mike — not right now. Later, after this was all over. "I mean, just doing nothing is driving me a little nuts. Besides, most of the problems Karofsky has is because of straight people. Shouldn't you have at least a couple of straight people to back you up when you say they're not all going to want to change him or persecute him?"

And... Huh, that was an interesting point. But still... "So what exactly do you want to do and say? No offense, but some of you aren't exactly known for tact or emotional support." He didn't name names, or even give any significant looks, but he didn't need to.

"We know we could be playing with fire," Santana said. "Like I've said all along, this isn't just about Karofsky anymore — this is about us too, so it's in _our_ best interests to play nice with him. Anyway, who do you think really knows more about what makes Karofsky tick: you, or the three guys here who've been sharing a locker room with him all year?"

Another interesting point. Kurt stroked his chin thoughtfully. Maybe having other perspectives would increase the likelihood of success... "Okay," he finally said. "But not all at once; there's no sense overwhelming him. And for God's sake, _think_ before you speak, _please_. And I'm not saying that because I don't trust you; it's because _I've_ had some problems with that already." He hesitated; the others fixed him with almost comic attention. "And... thank you. For caring."

"I told you, that's what family does," Finn said with a shrug.

"I've got my reasons," Santana said.

"So do I," Puck said.

"I think you're doing a good thing here," Mike said. "Nobody should be forced into little boxes by anyone, especially not their parents."

And Kurt didn't have the emotional reserves to touch _that_ statement; again, later. "Okay, so should we coordinate a plan of attack, or...?" The sound of the bedroom door creaking open behind him froze further words. Dave barely gave them the most passing of passing glances as he went into the bathroom. That was when Kurt was reminded that, oh yeah, he really _did_ need to go. He cursed under his breath. Once the bathroom door was safely shut, he turned to the others. "Looks like we won't have much of a chance to coordinate. Try to follow my lead, and remember: only one of you at a time."

The others nodded solemnly. Kurt returned the nods, and turned back to the shut bathroom door; whether he was waiting for Dave or the bathroom to be available was a coin flip.

After Dave's usual breakfast in his room, his classmates waited, with varying degrees of patience and tension, for him to emerge once more. Weariness flooded over Kurt as he flopped down into the recliner, that closed door behind him foremost in his mind. This would be the absolute worst time for Dave to return to his former patterns, Kurt thought, but if he broke them once, he might again...

It was times like this that he almost wished he believed in prayer. At least it'd give him _something_ to do.

Around half past ten, Dave reappeared, again in new clothing. All of Kurt's weariness immediately evaporated into fresh tension... or anticipation. Dave dropped his breakfast bowl into the sink, then turned. There, in the middle of the kitchen area, he hesitated; his eyes were flickering between the door and their general direction. It was indecision, that much was certain — but what was he debating? Whether to go outside again? Whether to go back into his room? Wild impulse brought Kurt to his feet. He had — _had_ — to nudge Dave, right now, no matter what the cost.

"Dave," he said through a scratchy throat that he quickly cleared. Dave's attention finally focused, on him. "Mind joining us for a little while?"

Dave looked over his shoulder in askance at the others, all sitting on the couch or at the dining table. The calculating in his eyes was clear: he was concerned about being ganged up on. Just what Kurt was afraid he'd be afraid of. But in a sense, the others were right: they were here, they were involved, and they couldn't just ignore and be ignored forever. Not to mention the fact that they actually seemed to want to help (some surprising him more than others). So why not at least give them the opportunity? If they made a mistake... Well, it wasn't like it was impossible that Kurt would make more himself anyway, and they had time.

About a week, maybe a little more, at best... The pressure of the calendar suddenly squeezed at his chest.

"Um..." The sound wrenched his attention back fully onto Dave. His eyes were still darting about in indecision; Kurt had the distinct feeling that if some clear path of flight had existed, it would've been taken. As it was, Dave just looked... Lost? Helpless? Terrified? Some combination of the above, and more? It was hard to tell. Finally, he closed his eyes, let out a deep sigh, and said, "Okay. Fine." Only with those words completed did he open his eyes. "It's not like saying no is gonna get me out of here or make you leave me alone."

Kurt heard in Dave's voice a kind of practiced resignation. Just how out of control of his life did this boy feel? Was he exploiting his pain somehow?

If it'd get Dave closer to accepting himself and not going to that goddamn camp, he'd exploit everything and anything.

Kurt forced a small smile that he hoped was friendly. "We're not going to torture you, Dave. Come on." He dared to lay a gentle hand on Dave's forearm; he could feel the muscles stiffen underneath his fingers. It was surprisingly easy to lead Dave to the recliner, even as gentle as his nudging and tugging was. He watched as Dave lowered himself into sitting position like an arthritic grandfather. Kurt took a seat on the side of the sofa closest to Dave while Santana took the other side. Finn and Puck remained at the dining table, other than turning their chairs around, and Mike moved to the floor next to the coffee table.

Kurt was used to uncomfortable silences, but he'd never encountered such a _pure_ example as the one that ensued. Museum-quality, it was.

Well, if he didn't do something, someone (Santana) would probably try to break the silence and tension by saying something snarky and ill-advised. But what to do? Maybe if the others wanted to get involved, maybe he had to lead them into it somehow...

 _Ah_.

"You know," Kurt said, "that Finn and I haven't always been friends." He sneaked a glance at his stepbrother, and hoped. His hope was fulfilled; Finn's eyes widened, his mouth opening into a small "o." Yes, he definitely knew where Kurt was going with this. After a bare moment's hesitation, he gave a small nod. Fraternal love warmed his chest as he returned his attention to Dave. "I'm sure you remember; he went along with the rest of the football team in bullying losers and fags like me. Maybe he wasn't as enthusiastic as them, but he went along all the same."

"Yeah," Dave said with surprising bitterness. "I remember."

"He wasn't very... understanding of my sexuality, not for a long time. But look at us now. We live under the same roof. We're stepbrothers. He danced with me at our parents' wedding, in front of everybody. When I asked for help, he offered it without a second thought. My point is, Dave, people can change... That is, the people who _need_ to change can change. They can let go of the hate and the fear. They can accept people for who they are."

"I was wrong, Karof— Dave," Finn said quietly, his head somewhat bowed. It was so perfect that Kurt might've assumed it was ginned up a bit for Dave's benefit if he didn't know that Finn wasn't capable of that type of emotional manipulation. "I guess I never met a lot of gay people before Kurt, but that's no excuse. I'm just sorry it took until _I_ was the one getting Slushied to get it." He actually grinned at Dave at this point for some reason; Dave actually cracked a smile in response, again for reasons Kurt didn't understand. "But getting to know Kurt, living with him... It's really opened my eyes, man, seriously. I... I used to not even want to get close to him in public, 'cause I was afraid people would think I was gay too, but like he said... At our parents' wedding..."

"You remember what you guys said about glee club," Puck said. "What _I_ said about it. I joined anyway, 'cause I figured I was too much of a badass for anything to happen to me. Well, I was wrong, and like Finn said, that was a real eye opener. I was worse than Finn..."

"Yeah, you were," Dave said.

"... But seriously, dude, you can't look at the way I am now and what I do and say that I'm still the same guy I was last year."

"People are capable of so much understanding and kindness," Kurt said gently. "And the ones who aren't... Why bother with them in the first place? Why do you have to change yourself to satisfy a bunch of bullies and bigots? As for your parents, as I told you, they probably just don't understand..."

"No, they don't," Dave said tightly. His hands were clutching the armrests of the recliner in a death grip; Kurt had no idea if this was a good thing or not. "Practically nobody does. So why the fuck should I be the one who puts myself out there? Why can't someone like you, who's braver and smarter—"

Kurt had little time to react to the implications before the explosion.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I can't take this anymore!"

"Santana..."

"No, I'm sick of this! I'm sick of being scared!" Santana stood, stalking over to Dave. She towered over him; he cowered, despite being twice her size — but that was the only sane reaction. "I'm gay too, okay?" she practically snarled.

The room went dead silent. Even the air itself felt like it stilled.

"W-what?" one of the guys squeaked. Kurt couldn't see who it was; he was too busy staring up at Santana in dumb shock, just like everyone else.

"You're whining about how nobody understands? Well, _I_ fucking understand, Karofsky. I understand what it's like to have everything and not want to lose it. I understand what it's like to be afraid of what your family and friends will think. I understand what it's like to look at out-and-proud fags like Hummel and wonder why this little fairy has more... more _courage_ in his pinkie than you have in your entire body." She swallowed. "I know what it's like to have to hide, every single fucking day of your life, until you're completely exhausted and you're wondering if you'll have to do it forever, and if it's really worth it..."

"S-Santana..." Dave began. But if there was anything else he wanted to say, could've said, he didn't.

So Santana continued. "But... I've got something on the other side. Something... something good. And she... she makes me believe sometimes that all the shit that Hummel and you went through might actually be worth it for me." To Kurt's utter shock, perhaps even stronger than what he'd felt just seconds ago, she knelt in front of Dave, her face and voice free of sarcasm or artifice. It was a Santana he'd never met before. "There's something like that for you too, if you let it happen. But you've gotta let it happen, or nothing's ever gonna change."

"Wh-Wha...?" Dave was still as discombobulated as Kurt was, apparently. "Why... why do you...?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Care? Because if you can do it, I can, duh! If you can figure out some way to get accepted after all the crap you've been through, then it'll be easier for me." It made sense, but Kurt wondered if even that was the whole story. But even considering that possibility led to far too deep a rabbit hole for him to dare to go further. "You just need to find that good thing on the other side. Then everything else gets easier."

"What if it doesn't exist?" Dave rasped.

"The world doesn't suck _that_ bad, no matter how much you or I think it does. There's always something good somewhere." Her eyes flickered towards the floor. "She's living proof of that."

Suspicions were stirring in Kurt's mind on just who this "good thing" was, but Dave didn't allow him any time for conjecture. "Yeah, well, maybe if I just fix myself, I can find something good and avoid all the bad shit at the same time."

"Oh, really?" Santana said, standing, her voice hardening into something more resembling her usual self. "You actually still think you can do what I couldn't and 'fix yourself'?"

"Why not?"

"Okay, let's put that to the test, shall we?" Without further ado, or even asking permission, Santana straddled Dave's legs and began a slow, sensuous lap dance.

"Whoa..." That was definitely Puck's voice, hushed in awe.

"Santana..." Kurt began.

"Feel good, big boy?" Santana said softly and saucily, completely ignoring her peanut gallery. Her hands roamed up and down Dave's side, caressing his cheeks, as she swayed and bucked just millimeters from Dave's crotch. "This is what you want, isn't it? A beautiful woman, giving herself to you? Touching you... like _that_?" Kurt couldn't quite see where her hand went then, but Dave visibly twitched, and Puck gasped involuntarily. "I may be a big old lesbian, but I know how to please a guy. You know that. So, c'mon, Dave... How do I make you _feel_?" The last word was a harsh, teasing whisper directly into his ear.

"I..." Dave swallowed. "I... uh..."

Santana raised her eyebrows. "I'm not feeling anything from you... anywhere. What's the matter, Karofsky? Am I not doing it for you? Because if _I_ don't do it for you, while I'm doing _this_..." She ground her hips into Dave's. Puck actually fell out of his chair.

"I... No!" Dave groaned. "I'm just... I'm just a little nervous..."

Kurt knew he should be stopping this. But there was something about the atmosphere — the tension — that froze him in his seat.

"Then let's try another little experiment." She turned her head, while her body remained practically squeezed against Dave's. "Mike, come here." Nobody moved. "I said, _come here_ ," she growled. Mike immediately scrambled to his feet and joined the two. "Sit down." He dutifully sat down next to the recliner with a puzzled look on his face. "Mike's going to hold your hand, okay?"

Dave's brow furrowed. "What...?"

At last, at least in Kurt's mind, things were becoming clear. Some part of him still yelled that this was dangerous, this wasn't the way... But indecision and inertia kept him seated and silent. Mike seemed to understand too. "Is it okay?" he asked quietly.

"I..."

"I'll take that as a yes," Santana purred. "Do it," she snapped at Mike, all pretense of sensuality and softness temporarily gone. Mike jumped, but nevertheless, he reached up and slipped his hand under Dave's. "Yeah, there you go," she said, her voice lowering again. "He's not going to do anything else. Just... that." Kurt wasn't sure who tightened their grip first, but he could see the two joined hands squeeze at each other. Unbidden, Mike lifted his other hand and gently placed it over the top of Dave's. All eyes were on those hands, including Dave's, as Santana once more rocked and rolled against Dave's flesh. "How about that? How does that feel?" Dave was still staring at his hand in Mike's; Kurt could hear his breaths deepen. "Think about how that makes you feel, holding a guy's hand. Can you really imagine learning not to like it? Can you really imagine learning to like what I'm doing more?" Dave's hand was visibly starting to shake, even within Mike's grasp. Santana leaned over and whispered into Dave's ear once more; the words were soft, but sharp, like a dagger. "Can you...?"

With a roar, Dave jumped to his feet. Santana cried out as she lost her balance, falling directly into Kurt's lap. Through the flailing flesh and flying hair, not to mention the sudden pressure against _sensitive_ areas, Kurt was barely able to see Dave rip his hands out of Mike's and charge out of the cabin like a rhino.

"Dave!"

Kurt slid out from under Santana as best he could, but he still sent her tumbling to an undignified heap onto the floor. "Motherfuck—!" But he couldn't concern himself with her, with her outrage; he followed Dave out into the sun-drenched clearing.

Dave was screaming. He was kneeling in the middle of the clearing, and he was screaming at the sky, an anguished, animal-like cry of pain. He didn't seem to hear or notice Kurt as he approached, he was just screaming and screaming and...

Kurt knelt by his side. "Dave!"

The name — the single word — was like pricking a balloon. All at once, Dave seemed to literally _wilt_ into Kurt's arms. His hands grabbed at Kurt's shoulders as heavy sobs wrenched out of him; Kurt could feel the tears soaking into his shirt. Kurt held onto Dave as tightly as he could, hair tickling his cheek as he listened helplessly to Dave's grief — grief for a life forever lost, for a comfortable world that was now forever changed.

Kurt was just barely able to look back towards the cabin; the others were standing huddled in the open door, watching, but not approaching. They seemed to sense the emotional minefield laid out before them, and they were smart enough not to dare it.

He didn't know how long Dave cried in his arms. He just knew that it was long enough to soak grass stains into his pants, and for the sun to heat his back until it felt like a griddle. But he didn't move, he didn't speak. He did the only thing necessary to be of any comfort to Dave.

He was there.

Finally, after what had to be hours (right?), Dave's wails subsided, his shoulders no longer shaking so much with violent hysteria. His tears became erratic, interrupted by sniffles and gulps of precious air. The death grip digging into Kurt's arms slackened, much to his relief. But still Kurt didn't move, didn't speak, not until Dave's face finally rose, and he saw a pair of blinking, watery, reddened eyes. "How do you feel?" Kurt asked gently.

"I... Shitty."

"I understand."

A gust of wind blew through the clearing, bringing with it some welcome cooling relief. Other than that, the rest of the world might as well have gone mute, for all Kurt's ears knew.

"Hey... Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"Um, can you... distract me?"

"Distract you? How?"

"I... I just need a little time to get my head on straight." He laughed, somewhat high pitched and hysterical. "Straight. That's funny."

"I still don't know how."

"Well... I told you a bunch of shit about me. You should return the favor."

Kurt blinked; even through the remnants of emotion in Dave's eyes, he could still see some modicum of strength, pride, sincerity. "Really?"

"Yeah. Maybe then I'll understand why you're doing this. Maybe then I'll understand why your life is so good."

 _My life... is good?_ But then, when he thought about it... Hadn't he mused in the past just how lucky he was? His friends could be self-centered and homophobic, but they could've been worse. There was still a gap of understanding between himself and his father that plainly bothered both parties, but their relationship, and he, could've been worse. He knew how much worse things could've been for him in Lima, Ohio. Usually, he saw only the room for improvement, but...

That didn't mean there was absolutely nothing there to appreciate.

So Kurt spoke. "Well... Once upon a time..."

A pained chuckle came out of Dave. "Seriously, dude? Really?"

"Roll with me here; this is kind of awkward for me."

"I'm in the middle of nowhere, hugging a guy after crying my eyes out. You think you feel awkward?"

"Granted, but it's my story, so let me tell it my way. Now... Once upon a time, there was a little boy who never liked what the other boys liked. He liked dancing. He liked tea parties. He liked colorful clothing and books with long words in them. Nobody understood him, not really. The closest he came were the parents who loved him, and one of them died while he was still young. As the boy grew up, he began to hear what others thought of him. He began to learn that what he liked wasn't what they wanted him to like. And for a long time, the boy was very confused. He knew what he liked. He knew what he wanted. But it felt like the entire world was telling him 'no.'

"So the boy went through life as best he could. His father eased his fears, even as he knew he couldn't fully connect to them. His friends rallied around him, even as he knew that they still carried what they'd been taught. But they were trying. They were all trying, for his sake. And the little boy, not so little anymore, learned what love really is. That gave him the strength to go on, every single day, and he honored those people by teaching others the same thing. He may not have had a happily ever after yet, but... it was good enough."

There was a pause — in the story? In the world? Kurt couldn't tell.

"That's... not a lot of detail."

"I told you, you're not the only one who feels awkward here. I need time too, you know."

"So... how does the story end?"

"I don't know."

"The little boy deserves a happy ending."

"Yeah... I think so too."

The rest of the afternoon passed in relative calm. None of the others so much as approached Dave, as if physically seeing how tender and fragile his emotions still were. Dave merely stayed in his room except to eat and use the bathroom — seemingly back to the old pattern, but this time, Kurt could sense that the old patterns in Dave Karofsky's head, his life, were irreparably altered.

When Dave went to bed that night, his fellow McKinley students silently gathered around the dining table, unplanned and unbidden. Santana crossed her arms, staring at him defiantly. The guys just looked... confused? Drained? It was hard to say; they seemed to have trouble just meeting anybody's eyes.

It looked like it was up to Kurt to start the ball rolling... again. "I know you're all concerned about Dave..."

"Not me," Santana snorted, although it sounded like she said it more out of obligation than any feeling.

"Hey, I'm gonna admit _I_ am," Puck said. "Man, I didn't think the dude had that many tears in him! I didn't think anyone did!"

That said a lot — that said a hell of a lot. More than Kurt expected, anyway. There was a lot of story there, he knew, but he didn't mind knowing it for once. It was just enough that it was helping Dave. "Well, I think we made a kind of breakthrough. I think... I think the healing can finally start."

"You really think so?" Finn asked. "He looked... Shit, he looked... broken."

"I know. But this is a pretty big thing he's facing." He glanced towards Santana. "He's not the only one."

"Whatever," Santana grumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. That was probably for the best; he had his hands full enough dealing with _one_ fellow gay teenager. Santana would have to wait her turn, after Dave's situation was less precarious.

"Anyway, I think he'll be more receptive now. This is where I think the rest of you can really contribute." That seemed to get the group's attention. "He probably thinks he's embarrassed himself or something. He could really use knowing that he has more support than just me. The only question is, are you willing to be that support for him?"

There was only the briefest of pauses.

"Yeah. Sure."

"I've come this far; I'm not backing out now."

"I made a promise. I'm gonna keep it."

"Eh, I guess."

Kurt had little idea where most of their motivation was coming from. Maybe he didn't need to know. All he knew was that he had it.

A little ember of hope deep in his chest began to glow even brighter.

* * *

 **DAY FIVE: Tuesday**

Kurt liked to think of himself as... a ninja. Not literally, obviously (though those little sword-thingys they sometimes carried were kind of neat), but he always had a knack for stealth. Many was the time he scared the daylights out of his mother yelling "Boo!" from around some corner. Once he caught her with an entire basket of laundry. He was grounded for the rest of the weekend, but oh, man, was the sight of all those colorful t-shirts and underpants flying everywhere worth it!

As his sense of style improved, his ability to practice stealth waned; after all, the purpose of fashion was to be noticed. But, as he found out to his gratitude, he still had it.

The first was Santana, of course. She and Dave left the cabin together — well, more like slipped out after breakfast while everyone else was doing their own thing. Kurt, however, had been expecting something like this, and managed to follow at a discreet distance. It was betraying a level of trust, to be sure, but he had to make certain she didn't fuck anything up. Besides, he figured he'd already betrayed Dave's trust a little (guilt still wormed in him for that, even though he knew there was nothing else he could've done), and he couldn't really bring himself to give a damn over Santana.

She led him down one of the hiking trails; Kurt would've cursed her for that if he wasn't pretty sure that Dave was beyond the point of wanting to escape. He watched from behind trees, feeling that old thrill from childhood, until they'd hiked deep into the serene forest. They found a fallen tree to sit on, and there, they talked.

"You too, huh? All this time?" Dave said.

"Yeah."

"And all those guys you slept with..."

"Figured it would help me find 'the right guy'," Santana said with an overly casual shrug. "And if I didn't, it'd help me hide. Win-win." She looked over at Dave thoughtfully. "I should've figured you out a lot sooner. Guys who climb up the social ladder like you did would usually take advantage of it and date a lot more. Or at least make out with every willing girl he could get his hands on." Dave just snorted absently. Santana fell silent again (this was the least he'd heard her talk _ever_ ) and the two stared out into the trees for a while.

It took a while (a while during which Kurt had to rub a cramp out of his bent right leg) for someone to speak again — in this case, Dave. "This is fucking weird."

"I know."

"You're not being bitchy for once. As bitchy, I mean."

"I'm as surprised as you are. I guess I kinda... relate to you. I mean, I'm sure not gonna relate to _Hummel_." Dave chuckled, which made Kurt seethe a little inside. "His Indian name may be Dances With Unicorns, but he sure doesn't know what it's like to actually have popularity and reputation, and... and want to keep it." Kurt still seethed, even as a goodly part of him acknowledged that she did have a point.

"At least he's trying," Dave muttered. _Thank you, David._ "It's a hell of a lot more than anyone usually does."

"That's because every day, everything we do is telling people that we don't need anyone," Santana said, sounding as thoughtful as Kurt had ever heard her, even as venom crept into her voice. "Because we're _badass_ , and we're _royalty_ in that goddamn hellhole of a school, and we've got _everything_ under control."

Dave glanced at her, startled. "... Yeah."

"I have no idea how my parents would react." Kurt didn't know which of the three of them was more surprised by the abrupt shift in topic, and by Santana, no less. Maybe there were just so many things running around in her head, now that she had even half of a chance to express them to someone in no position to judge her, she couldn't hold it back anymore. No wonder she was such a bitch all the time. Well, that and the fact that she just _was_ a bitch. "But my _abuela_... my grandmother... The more I think about it, the more afraid I get of what she'd say. Not because she's a big conservative or anything, but she's a good Catholic, and fucking _reputation_ means everything to her. A granddaughter who sticks out by being an _open_ _lesbian_ would shame her, and shame her a fuckton more than a granddaughter who sleeps around with guys." She shook her head. "And I actually _care_ about what she thinks. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do. She's... she's my grandmother, and if I shame her by just existing..."

Dave's arm rose, as if he were about to put it around her shoulder, but he seemed to think better of it and put it down. Probably smart. A vulnerable Santana was unpredictable, rather like a stray cat.

"Bet you thought you were the only one with your stupid and petty problems, didn't you, Karofsky?" Santana continued with a vein of bitterness that was so forced, it was almost funny. Her arms were tightly woven over her chest, as though she were hugging herself. "Well, you're not. You're not some beautiful and unique snowflake. You're just one of a hundred thousand kids with the same fucking story. Fuck, I'll bet you could talk to any one of 'em, and they'd hear _exactly_ what they were going through from you. Then the two of you could cry on each other's shoulders over how miserable you are."

Well. That was a point Kurt had forgotten to make thus far, but leave it to Santana to put it in that way. "Okay," Dave said. It might have seemed to some like a non-sequitur reply, but Kurt had a feeling that all three listeners knew exactly what was not being said.

"Fine." Santana rose; both Dave and Kurt did the same. "I'm sick of the woods. There's way too many mosquitoes, and the shower at the cabin sucks ass compared to mine."

"That's the thanks we get for letting you use all the shelf space in the bathroom?"

"Fuck you, I need that space. Unlike Kurt, who thinks his forty dollar skin cream actually does a fucking thing for him..."

Kurt stifled his simmering outrage (Did she not pay attention to what his face looked like before? That cream was a godsend. A _godsend._ ) and hurried back down the trail ahead of the other two. He was back in the cabin, having a nice glass of iced tea, when Dave and Santana stepped in, casual and silent as if they'd just been taking a stroll. He didn't so much as glance in their direction.

As it turned out, it was a busy day. Finn was next. He actually tapped Dave on the shoulder after lunch on his own initiative and said quietly, "Hey, man, can we talk about something?"

The two went into Dave's room. This time, Dave closed the door all the way, but Kurt thought quickly, and was relieved to find out that he could hear them just fine from outside the window. (Once again, that thrill of stealth. It was kind of heady.)

"... You know how much Kurt is risking doing this, right?"

"Yeah. I have no idea why, though." There was a pause. "No, he told me why, but I still don't fucking believe it."

"That's just the kinda guy he is." He could almost hear the shrug in Finn's voice.

"What about you? Why did you go along with this?"

"Because he's my brother now. And 'cause he's my friend."

"But... you used to bully him too."

"... Yeah, I know. And I still regret it. I didn't know, then. I didn't know what kind of guy he is. All I could see was... was the _gay_ , y'know?"

"... I know exactly what you mean."

"Shit, yeah, I'm sorry..." There was another pause. "What?"

There was a hint of a laugh in Dave's voice. "You apologizing to me... It's kinda funny."

"What...? Oh. That. Look, dude..."

"I don't want to hear it."

"No, seriously, I'm—"

When Dave broke it, it was with a tone that Kurt, at least, did not expect. "No, what I meant is that none of this is your fault. Seriously. You're not the only one who made fun of me in school. You were just... I dunno, one more brick in the wall, I guess."

"... Is that any better?"

"A little, I suppose."

"So... are we..."

"Cool? I... Maybe. I mean, I really didn't buy that you'd changed at all, even after joining the glee club, until now. Just the fact that you went along with this, for me and for Kurt, even though you could've ended up in serious trouble..."

"Yeah." Yet another pause. This one went on for longer before Finn spoke again. "You know... if Kurt can forgive me... he can forgive you too."

"I guess," Dave said after a long pause, with a weird tremor in his voice that frankly confused Kurt. "Makes it easier that he already kinda got his revenge."

"Look, man, I'll bet that if we asked Kurt, he'd say he regrets ever saying anything." And Finn was right.

"Seriously? Even if that meant me keeping on creeping on him and harassing him?"

"If it helps, he'd probably say that at least then, he could blame just you for anything bad that happened, and it wouldn't be his fault at all." Right again. Huh, maybe there was something to this sibling bond thing after all.

"... Yeah. I just... Like I said, he's told me why, but I still can't believe it. I can't believe that I... That he'd want to help me at all, even if he does feel guilty."

"Like I said, that's just the kinda guy he is."

"Yeah. I'm getting that."

With that, Kurt left. Not that he wasn't interested, but he was starting to get a little too into the secret ego-stroking.

About an hour and a half after Dave and Finn emerged from the bedroom, Puck snatched up his football, clapped Dave on the shoulder, and cocked his head silently towards the door. Dave just as silently nodded, rose, and followed.

This time, Kurt went into Dave's room and opened the window a crack. It gave him a perfect vantage point, and sound carried easily across the clearing, all without being seen himself. It took a while to get to anything more interesting than grunting and "Nice catch," and Kurt was starting to nod off. But he snapped completely awake when Puck finally said more than a couple of words.

"You know why I'm here?"

Dave caught the football an instant before he answered. "Not really."

"Well, they said they needed me. 'Cause I'm the muscle, and the convicted criminal, y'know?"

"Makes sense, I guess."

"But that's why _they_ wanted me to come. That's not why _I_ wanted to come."

"So why did you?" Dave tossed the football back to Puck. This time, it looked like Puck actually had to make an effort to catch it. That was Kurt's first hint.

"Being in the glee club... It's really been a trippy experience."

"I can tell. I never did figure out why you did, after all the time you spent pushing 'em around and making fun of 'em."

"That's... kinda hard to explain. But once I was in... Man, actually being _good_ at something... Besides sports, I mean, 'cause everyone figured I'd be good at that... It was unbelievable how performing felt. It was like making a play out on the field, except a _hundred_ times more intense..." Puck tossed the football up and down in his hands thoughtfully, his eyes unfocused and faraway. "Working together with the others... That was just as trippy, because while they were kinda like what I thought they'd be, they were also way better people than I thought they'd be."

"Bet it didn't hurt that you were on the receiving end of what you used to dish out for once." There was a surprising note of bitterness in Dave's voice. Kurt had little idea of what Dave or Puck were like before high school — again, not exactly the same circles, and there wasn't quite the same integration and interaction between cliques and classes as high school — but he had enough to have at least a vague sense of where he was coming from.

Instead of making a flip remark, Puck, as far as Kurt could see from this distance, actually _grimaced_. "Yeah, that's the thing. See... I couldn't be in the glee club and still be an alpha jock asshole at the same time. It just wasn't possible. So now that I'm on the other side of it, I've been kinda thinking about shit I did before, and..." The ball stilled in Puck's hands. "I was a real asshole to you. I was the one who got Finn to tell everyone about your pubes in fifth grade."

"Like I said to Finn, you weren't the only one," Dave said in a mildly strained voice.

"I wasn't the only one to tease you, or you weren't the only one I teased?"

"Both."

"Yeah. But one thing I've learned the past year is that the shit you do has consequences. Like with Quinn. With you. With what happened after I joined glee. With juvie. I mean, it'd happened before with other stuff, but all that crap all at once... It really stuck this time."

There was a much longer pause this time, as if the two boys outside were playing verbal chicken. Kurt rested his chin on his hand and drummed on the table with his fingers.

"So..." Dave finally said, "this means you're here because...?"

"Yeah. This is my way of trying to make up for some of that shit."

"I'm your penance now, is that it?"

"Why not?" Puck said with a shrug. "This is something that could actually do something good for someone else, and I did shit to you in the past. So why shouldn't I start here, right now, with you?"

"So this is an apology too."

"Kinda."

"I don't know if I want to accept."

"That's your right. I didn't expect you to, anyway, and it's not like anything's actually happened yet. I just thought... I dunno, I guess I wanted you to know that I'm here because I want to be. Because even if I never get out of Lima, I don't have any right to drag anyone down with me."

"Yeah..." Dave said, "that's something I had to learn myself."

With that, Kurt got up and left. It didn't feel right to listen anymore.

But he did listen again, later, mostly because he couldn't help it. It was after dinner. Finn was in the shower, Santana was in her room, Puck was listening to music, and Kurt was washing dishes. That left Mike and Dave still at the dining table.

"How're you doing?" Mike asked.

Dave pushed the remnants of his ham steak around on his plate. "I dunno. I guess I'm still kind of in shock."

"I can see that."

Kurt could almost feel the two glance in his direction; he quickly pretended to be distracted by the suds and the grease and the squeak of his rubber gloves. No way to excuse himself without it becoming awkward (excuse himself to where, anyway?), so might as well give them as much space as he could.

"I'm kinda surprised," Dave finally said.

"At what?"

"You. Doing this. This is serious shit that you could still get into a lot of trouble for. I always figured you as... well..."

"A goody two shoes? Perfect student, perfect teammate, perfect son?"

"Well, yeah, but why are you saying that like it's a bad thing? You never gave me any grief, either, before... Well, before."

"My dad says that I'm gonna do great and important things when I become a doctor." If Dave was as startled at the apparent shift in topic as Kurt was, he heard no sign of it. "Save people's lives."

"Lemme guess: you don't want to be a doctor."

Mike snorted. "Is it that obvious? I guess I can't hide it everywhere, all the time."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"I... don't know yet." Mike sighed. "But if I'm not gonna be a doctor, I still want to do great and important things. I still want to save people if I can."

"And you think I need saving?" There were strange shades to Dave's voice that Kurt wasn't sure even Dave understood.

"I think you're important enough to save."

"... Why?"

"Because you're Dave Karofsky." Dave laughed. "What?"

"You sound like Ms. Pillsbury, dude."

"But am I wrong?" Kurt could almost feel the answer straining to burst free, but it never came. "If I can't be true to myself," Mike said in a near whisper, "someone should be able to."

"I'm not your proxy, Chang. I'm not your responsibility."

"Yeah, you're not my proxy. But my mom always told me something I thought was kind of lame, but I've found it to be true: other people _are_ our responsibility. No matter who, no matter when. Otherwise, the world really _does_ suck."

The thoughtful silence that ensued was broken by Finn lumbering out of the shower. Kurt quickly returned his attention to finishing the dishes.

Once more, after Dave went to bed, the others gathered around the dining table without being asked. Kurt looked at each of his classmates in turn, wondering how much he should say, how much he should indicate he knew. When he found his words, he took a deep breath and said, "I think it's really important that Dave knows he's not alone in this. I think the more people he knows who'll not demand he change to please them, the less likely he is to make that choice, even — especially — if it's people he doesn't think would stand by him. The better his self-esteem, the better the chances that he'll not want to change himself, and having a support system is vital for that."

He wanted to go on, but couldn't find any more words, not without giving away his spying (and Santana, at the least, would _not_ be pleased). But maybe he didn't need more words; the others just nodded.

Maybe... Just maybe... This whole screwy plan was going to work out...?


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: After some time off working on paying projects and fighting procrastination, I think I'm back. Hoping to update others, especially "Worlds Colliding", "Brothers in Arms", and "Free Agent", soon.**

 **DAY SIX: Wednesday**

After the emotional upheaval and chaos of the past couple of days, waking up to a generally quiet cabin was both a relief and worrisome — worrisome because Kurt had no idea how Dave was processing everything he'd been doing, thinking, and feeling since that fateful Monday. But at the same time, having some respite from the tension and upheaval was necessary emotionally, at least for him, and almost definitely Dave.

Still, when breakfast came and went and there was still no sign of Dave, Kurt couldn't help but be concerned. The others took their own glances, subtle and not, at the bedroom door, but it remained stubbornly shut. Kurt was the first to run out of patience and rise, but he noticed that Mike and Santana were halfway out of their chairs when he did. Huh.

Selfishly, he wanted to be the one to check on Dave this time. Dave had made all this progress yesterday, but he'd hardly talked to Kurt at all to do it. It was a little hurtful, but just a little; none of this would've been possible without his intervention and plotting. But still, this wasn't about him, was it?

Okay, it wasn't _supposed_ to be about him, but it was, a little — his own guilt, and assuaging that guilt. In a sense, he broke it, so he bought it. He knew full well that such thinking wasn't fair to anyone, but since when did logic stop anybody from feeling guilty?

He stuffed the storm in his mind back into its metaphorical box as he approached the door. After a moment to gather himself, make sure he was feeling and exuding calm, he knocked on the door. "Dave?"

An answer piped up almost immediately, much to Kurt's relief: "Yeah?"

"You okay in there?"

This answer took longer. "I... Kind of? It's hard to explain."

"I'd be willing to listen to you try, if you want."

A still longer pause. "Yeah. Okay. Come on in."

Kurt entered the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Dave was laying in bed atop the covers, fully clothed, his head resting on his interlaced fingers. He was staring up at the ceiling, and that's where his eyes remained focused, even as Kurt crossed the room and sat in the chair next to the window. Kurt looked up to where Dave was, and felt a little foolish for it; there was nothing there except timber, he knew that. But for all Dave's staring, it was clear he wasn't really _seeing_ , not really.

Kurt cleared his throat, unsure if he should make the first move. But maybe he should, if only to express his concern and reiterate his willingness to listen — provide a good foundation for anything Dave wanted to talk about. "Are you okay? We all missed you at breakfast."

"I'm fine. Just not hungry. I've been... thinking."

"That's what you've been doing all this time? Thinking?"

"Yeah. I actually started last night. If I didn't fall asleep, I probably wouldn't have stopped at all."

"I see," Kurt said. "So... decided anything as a result of your thinking?"

Dave shrugged. All this time, his eyes remained on the ceiling. "Not sure. It's hard enough just keeping up with all the changes."

"Changes? Which ones?"

"In my head. I mean, I guess I've pretty much known I'm gay for weeks now, but this is the first time I've thought about it without trying to figure out some loophole or hoping I can change."

Kurt's heart leaped. "You mean...?"

"You wanted to get me away from Father Mitchell's camp? I think you did it." Finally, Dave turned onto his side, facing Kurt, resting his head in the crook of his elbow. "You killed my hope, Kurt," he said with a small smirk that belied his literal words. "It was a stupid, fucked up hope, but it was still hope. But I think it's gone now. I'm still not 100% sure I can't change, but I think I know now that Father Mitchell isn't gonna help."

Kurt couldn't help but smile; he felt like he was on the verge of breaking down in sheer relief. "Oh, thank God, David, you don't know what it means for me to hear that..."

"I know," Dave said with his own smile. "And that's the most amazing thing about this whole week. But at the same time," he continued pointedly, before Kurt could process what was just said, "knowing that doesn't solve most of my problems. I'm still not sure what I want to _do_ now. I don't know what it _means_ to be... be gay. And... I still gotta go home eventually."

Kurt nodded. "That's true. But at least you can tackle these problems with a clear head now."

"Kind of. It's just... it's almost amazing how different I feel now. I think about the last year or so, and I can hardly remember what it was like. It's like there's this... this _haze_ of anger and fear over everything that happened then. It's like I was..."

"A completely different person."

A glint came into Dave's eyes. "Yeah. Exactly. It kinda scares the fuck out of me... Though probably not nearly as much as it scared you."

"Dave, you don't have to—"

"No. I do." Dave sat up straight, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. "Kurt... I know I said this when you came to my house, but now that my head's clearer, I want to say it again: I really am sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am. As for what happened... You did what you did to protect yourself after I threatened to kill you. I did what I did because I'm a dipshit coward who couldn't even think of just asking someone else for help. The shitpile my life is now... It's because of what I did, not you. If you feel bad because you were trying to make sure your bully didn't murder you, it'd make me feel like the shittiest human being on the planet, so please, _please_ tell me that you know that nothing that's happened to me is your fault."

It wasn't that simple. It just wasn't. But Kurt wasn't about to ignore Dave's request, either. "Okay, as long as you acknowledge that I've forgiven you for everything you did to me."

"Dude, this entire week is proof that you have. How can I think anything else?" He shook his head in wonder. "Sometimes I don't fucking understand you, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt shrugged. "Must be my mom's influence. Dad always said she was the sweetest woman he knew."

"She must've been amazing."

There was something about Dave's tone he couldn't quite grasp, especially since he was so lost then in his memories. But he'd remember it later. "Yes, she was."

"What was she like?"

"You really want to know?"

"Maybe I'll understand you better if I knew."

It was a somewhat weak reason; he realized that even then. But the opportunity to think about his mother, to speak of her to someone else... It was too tempting to ignore. "She was beautiful, of course, but she was beautiful on the inside too. Dad always talked about her kindness, her laugh. She was the one who took me to dance lessons when I was little, even though I was the only boy. I don't remember a single time she wasn't supportive towards me, no matter what I did or what I wanted. I remember our first trip to Disney World. I was... five? Six? I begged, _begged_ for a pair of Tinkerbell wings, and she bought them for me. No hesitation."

"She wanted you to be happy," Dave said softly.

Kurt nodded absently, lost in the mists of memory. "She was the first one to teach me how to cook, how to sew. She taught me how to pronounce 'Versace'. She gave me a love of reading. She..."

"She made you you. Or maybe she helped you be you."

"Yeah... I think that's a good way to put it. Or maybe she helped me feel okay with being me. You know my dad grew up in Lima all his life, with all the small town prejudices. The way he's accepted me... I think a lot of it has to do with my mom."

"Your mom sounds like a completely awesome person."

Kurt knew, even as he spoke, that time and grief were probably coloring his memories of his mother in rosier shades than existed in real life. Nobody was that perfect, not even her. But colored or not, those were his honest recollections of her, and he couldn't share them in any other way than equal honesty. "I think so."

"You're so lucky," he said softly. "To have someone like that in your life," he added hastily, as if Kurt would actually think he was saying that he was lucky that his mom was dead. But Dave had expressed similar sentiments in the recent past, and although Kurt still thought that "lucky" was overstating things, maybe in some ways... In some ways it wasn't.

"Well, if I didn't," Kurt said carefully, "I think it'd be necessary for me to find one. Everyone deserves to have somebody like that in their life: somebody who loves and accepts them without hesitation or limit."

"What if they don't exist?" And yes, there was a note of bitterness obvious in Dave's voice; he wasn't even bothering to hide it anymore. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

"People like that exist everywhere," Kurt said as sincerely as he could. "You know the old cliche that there's someone for everyone? In this case, I think it's completely true. There are people out there who will love you, the real you. It's just a matter of opening your heart to as many worthy people as you can until you find them."

There was a silence so heavy it almost made the air feel literally humid. Kurt could feel _something_ in that silence, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Dave's neutral, almost blank face offered no clues. When Dave finally broke the silence, it was almost a physical relief. "Yeah, well... I kinda did that already, and look how it turned out."

Kurt shook his head with a smile. "I think you and I both know that wasn't what I meant. And stop bringing it up. I don't know what you're trying to accomplish — maybe convince me to cut my losses — but it isn't going to work."

Dave had his own slow, disbelieving shake of the head. "What the fuck are you, some kinda saint?"

"Hardly, or none of this would be happening. I'm just... I guess I'm someone who feels like the meaning of life is to leave the world better off for your existence."

"Your mom really did do a hell of a job with you." The words and tone were rough and coarse, yet there was some kind of _force_ behind them... Maybe a force of sincerity? Whatever it was, Kurt felt it, and it stirred something deep inside him.

"I... Thank you."

"You don't have anything to thank me for."

"Yes, I do, so accept it, before I get annoyed with you."

"Oh, God, anything but that."

"Hey, haven't you learned by now that I'm a fearsome enemy, not to be trifled with?" It was a reminder of what had happened between them, true, but somehow, it _felt_ right to say. Indeed, he was rewarded by a roar of laughter from Dave.

"Fuck, yeah! If I'd known then what I know now, I never woulda crossed you!"

Kurt couldn't help but smile wide in pleasure. "Well, I don't have your physical stature, so I had to compensate _somehow_."

"You sure as hell have."

A silence fell again, but this one felt lighter, warmer.

"So..." Kurt began carefully, "are you joining us for lunch?"

Dave sighed, leaning back. "Maybe. I just... I need to think a little more."

"Okay. If you need someone to bounce ideas off of... I'm here."

"Yeah. I know. That's probably the best part of this whole mess."

The hairs on the back of Kurt's neck tingled. But Dave merely swung his legs back onto the bed and resumed staring at the ceiling, so it was obvious that there would be no more discussion for now. Thus, Kurt merely stood and silently exited the room, gently shutting the door behind him.

"Well?" Santana was the first to speak as he emerged into the living room, obviously.

"He needs to think." Kurt glared at Santana's snort, even as he knew it was probably instinctual on her part. "His entire life's been turned upside down. Of course he needs to think."

"And you did it," Santana said pointedly. "You're the reason his life's turned upside down."

"Well, I think he had more a little to do with that, for good and bad. Still, you're a little right, but that's all the more reason to be hands off for now."

"Is he okay?" Finn asked, and Kurt had already been around his stepbrother enough that he could hear the sincerity in the question.

"I... I'm not sure. But... he's getting there."

"So what can we do?" Mike asked.

"Right now... wait."

And wait they did. Dave did appear, briefly, a few times to use the bathroom or eat, but everything about him, from his posture to his lack of eye contact, told even Puck that he was lost in his own mental world, so they granted his silent request and let him be.

It was harder than anything else Kurt had done thus far.

* * *

 **DAY SEVEN: Thursday**

"Mornin'." That was all the warning anyone at the table had before Dave plopped himself down at the dining table with his plate of bacon and eggs. Forks and glasses froze in mid-air. Chewing ceased. Each of the other teenagers at the table, so wrapped up in their breakfast just a second ago, stopped to stare at the new arrival. Said new arrival paid them little attention, instead saying, "Pass the salt?" with a distracted air as he dumped ketchup onto his scrambled eggs.

"Uh..." Kurt managed to recover enough to snap his fingers in front of Finn's face; Finn jumped in his seat, then hurriedly handed Dave the salt.

"Thanks." He dug into his food without a single glance up.

His classmates exchanged all sorts of questioning glances, most of then directed towards Kurt. But _he_ was the one who needed answers the most! Again, the double edged sword of being the responsible one. Finally, after a long swig of orange juice to clear his throat, he dared to speak. "Good morning, Dave." That seemed safe. Right? Dave merely grunted through a mouthful of food, sparing them only a glance before returning to his breakfast. Now Santana was glaring at Kurt, snapping her head towards Dave. As if he needed to be encouraged, especially by _her_. But drowning Dave in attention was probably the last thing he needed right now; he didn't show it outwardly (and Kurt knew now how good Dave was at pretending), but this step was probably as nerve-wracking for him as it was for everyone else.

Once more, the waiting was the hardest part. Kurt went back to his rapidly cooling oatmeal, tossing glares around at the table whenever someone looked like they were going to explode (or in Santana's case, to get her to _stop those looks already_ ). He trusted in his instincts to tell him when the time was right, but he worried, obviously. As it turned out, the worry was unnecessary; when Dave cleaned his plate, but didn't get up, taking expectant but hesitant glances around the table, it was pretty clear.

But still, Kurt waited. Dave should be the one to make the first move — not just to get out of his shell, but because he deserved to.

Finally, after painful waiting, _just_ as Santana was opening her mouth, doubtlessly to ruin everything with some snarky remark, Dave spoke. "Um..." That was it at first. What did he want to say? I'm sorry? Thank you? What he did say was, "That was... good. The food, I mean."

Santana opened her mouth again, but Kurt managed to have the presence of mind to interrupt her this time. "It was." He ignored her eye-daggers. "It was mostly me, but Finn and Mike helped."

Dave nodded. "Well... thank you. For the food," he added quite unnecessarily.

"You're welcome."

Of course, Santana would not be denied forever. "Okay, Karofsky, so what's the deal n—"

It was at that moment that Mike — _accidentally_ , of course — knocked over his quarter-full glass of milk, almost straight into Santana's lap. She jumped to her feet, screeching. Mike leaped to his own feet. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry—"

" _Motherfuck_!" Dripping wet, she stormed towards her bedroom. "Oh fuck the _clinging_ it's so gross..."

"Santana, I—" Mike was cut off by the door slamming behind her. He winced, undoubtedly in anticipation of whatever Santana was going to do to him after she got changed. Kurt nodded gratefully at him; it would hardly be payment enough, but Mike just nodded back as he sat down.

Throughout this minor drama, Dave hadn't stared, or even reacted, in the slightest; he just finished his coffee one sip at a time, as if it were vitally important that something remain in his cup as long as possible. This just confirmed to Kurt that Mike had done the right thing keeping Santana from rushing him. So the remaining teenagers waited patiently (except for some glances towards Santana's bedroom door) until the last of the coffee was done — and with it, the last excuses. Dave silently put the cup down, right on top of an overturned spoon; it jangled across the table as the cup pushed it away.

He took a deep breath. The rest of the table seemed to, as one, hold theirs.

"I..." Dave swallowed, and began again. "I..." Again, he stopped. Oh, God, did Santana's doorknob rattle? Kurt couldn't help but desperately think, _Hurry up, already!_ Finally, Dave managed to get more than a single word out. "Looks like it's nice outside."

There was dead silence.

"What," Kurt said flatly.

"Not too hot."

Okay, this was too much. "Dave—" At the sound of his name, Dave turned towards Kurt with eyes that wept desperation like tears. His throat stopped.

"Kurt, I... Please."

Kurt bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. God, what could he say to _that_?

Only one thing.

"Y-yeah, the breeze is really picking up today. I heard it while I was making breakfast."

"Oh, is this the way it's gonna be?" The boys turned; Santana was standing in her open doorway, arms crossed, pants changed. She shook her head and sighed. "Okay, fine." She strode back to the table and sat; as she did so, there was the muffled sound of shoe leather impacting muscle, and Mike squealed in pain. She did not react in the slightest, instead saying, "I was thinking of going on a hike."

Finn nodded, slowly. "Yeah, good day for it, before it gets too hot."

"Wanna come, Dave?"

"Maybe. I was thinking of going in the afternoon, though."

"Either way. Don't really care."

"I should've brought my guitar," Puck remarked. "I think I coulda written a new song for Regionals up here."

"Regionals?" Dave asked.

"For glee," Kurt said. "Competition."

"Oh." A pause. "Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmm..."

It took Kurt a second to realize what Dave was humming. "Was that... 'Empire State of Mind'?"

Dave started, as if unaware of what he'd been doing. It took him a second to respond. "Uh... yeah. I guess I heard it when you guys sang it in the quad."

"Oh. And you remembered that."

"Guess I did."

The conversation, such as it was, didn't last much longer. When it did end (which was a bit of a guilty relief for Kurt — and, he guessed, everyone else too), it probably wasn't a coincidence that Dave was the first to rise from the table. "Uh, Kurt...? Do you mind if...?" He nodded towards the front door.

"Wh—? Oh!" _Finally!_ "Of course!" Without sparing a glance back at the others (was he afraid of missing this opportunity, or afraid of what he'd see in their faces?), he strode towards the door, so quickly that he actually passed Dave. He had to wait for Dave to fall in behind him, and the two went out into the clear spring morning.

Kurt, appropriately enough, took the lead; not once did he hear Dave's footsteps behind him hesitate as they followed him into the trees and down a well-marked dirt trail. They walked in silence (that still somehow, some way, felt almost... companionable) for a few minutes until they came upon a fallen tree laying parallel to the trail. It was, as it happened, the same one that Santana had led Dave to days before. Kurt hoped Dave wouldn't notice, but they needed a quiet place to talk out of sight and hearing of any possible distraction or spy (though Kurt himself sort of violated that already), and Santana's instincts about this particular place struck him as good. Fortunately, Dave didn't seem to recognize the tree as he sat down on it — at least, if he did, he made no word or expression that said so. Kurt sat next to him.

Kurt knew this was a _moment_ , with all the possibilities and pitfalls italics could infuse into the word. As much as he wanted to be careful, so he wouldn't ruin the _moment_ , he also knew that the bigger hazard was letting it pass. So he said, with as much gentleness as he could muster, "So, what did you want to talk about, Dave?"

Dave exhaled, his fingers gripping the bark to either side of him tightly as his legs idly kicked against the tree's side. It took him less time than Kurt had anticipated to answer — that had to be good, right? "What's it like being... gay?"

Kurt knew exactly why he was asking. His first impulsive reaction was, _What a stupid question_. But then he realized that to someone with Dave's life experiences and upbringing, it was far from stupid. So he answered. "You already know that."

"No, I don't. I have no idea how to be..." He swallowed audibly. "Gay."

"You're you, aren't you? Then you already know what it's like to be gay."

"But—"

"But you're nothing like me? That's the point. 'Gay' isn't all I am, even if I do fit a bunch of the stereotypes. It doesn't define me, just as it doesn't define you. Just because you play sports and don't like fashion doesn't make you any less gay." _Just tasteless._ Under normal circumstances, he would've made the joke. But he was getting in a groove, and it felt wrong to break stride right now. "It's... Think of yourself as a jigsaw puzzle. Your sexuality is just one piece. It may be one of thousands, but a puzzle is hardly complete without every single piece, is it? It just doesn't look or feel right." He turned a little towards Dave, who wasn't returning the eye contact; who knew what he was seeing in his blank, distant stare out into the woods? "You're attracted to people of the same sex. That means you're gay. And your gay experience is just like everything else: your own. But at the same time, there are probably certain elements that you share with others. That's how we form communities." Kurt finally took a breath before continuing. "If you've only learned one thing this entire time, Dave, it's that you're not alone, and I think knowing that is really important. To be completely honest, I think if you'd known that from the start, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with."

"Maybe." Dave laughed, strained and a little bitter. "You know what's fucked? It sounds like you have a higher opinion of me than I do right now."

"And I'm the one who was bullied. Maybe that should tell you something — about you, I mean, not me." The leaves above them rustled gently in a passing breeze. "It's easier to see someone's good qualities when they're not putting on a show all the time."

"Oh, yeah? What's mine?" The tone was teasing, but there was a shadow to it that Kurt could distinctly hear.

"Oh, no," Kurt said with a grin, "you're not fishing for compliments with me. That's my job as a performer." Dave actually laughed a little in return. "Seriously, though, I guess that's one thing I wanted to find out when I planned out this whole thing — who you really are."

"Fuck it, I have no clue either."

"But you can start finding that out, now that you're not adding to the pressure your family and friends have already been putting on you all these years. Who knows — maybe you'll find out you really do like Broadway and RuPaul. But if you don't... that's fine too. We're human, not a hive mind. Look at me: maybe I do fit stereotypes, but I already fit them before I _knew_ they were stereotypes. That's just me... and I'm pretty satisfied with that."

"How? I mean, how did you get to that point?"

Kurt shrugged. "What's the alternative? You and I both know how exhausting it is trying to be something you're not; sooner or later it all comes crashing down. It helped that I had what it sounds like you didn't: people in my life who supported me... or at least, didn't say out loud what they really thought of me." The very thought, which popped into Kurt's mind even as he was saying it, was kind of depressing — but, he knew, very likely true. Still, the four people waiting for them back in the cabin — everything they'd done for him and for Dave this entire weird week — more than took the edge off. "And even that was so much help, you don't even know."

"And you're gonna be one of those people for me?"

"Would I have had you kidnapped if I wasn't?"

"So you finally admit it. Great." Dave laughed weakly. "I don't get you, Hummel. After everything I've done..."

"That's the thing with being part of a minority community," Kurt said quietly. "You see something of your own story in practically every other person in the community you meet. The bonds that can form... It's kind of hard to describe."

"But I'm feeling it," Dave said. "Right now. A little." That, more than almost anything else, lifted Kurt's heart. He started when Dave abruptly turned towards him and stuck out his hand.

Kurt looked down at the hand. "Um...?"

"Thank you." The words were firm and sincere. "Thank you for helping me. You're way more kind and forgiving than I could ever be, and... I can't say that I'm sorry often enough."

 _A handshake,_ Kurt thought wryly. _How typically masculine._ Then again, considering the circumstances and atmosphere, he could understand if Dave didn't want to, or was afraid to, make any more intimate contact than that. So he took Dave's hand and shook firmly. "The best thing you can do is acknowledge that I accept your apology. I don't need you tripping all over yourself to apologize every few minutes."

Dave snorted. "Okay." It took a while for them to let go — longer than Kurt thought, but still shorter than it probably actually was. The two fell silent for a while; Kurt let Dave think, listening instead to the sounds of nature all around them. "I'm still scared," he finally said after long minutes. "But not really of the stuff I was scared of before. I don't... My life is gonna be so completely _different_ now, and I... It scares the fuck out of me. I have no idea what's going to happen to me now."

"Of course you're scared. You wouldn't be human if you weren't. But like I said, at least you know you aren't going to face it alone." He turned to Dave. "So what is it like being gay?"

Dave chuckled. "What?"

"I want you to tell me. Go ahead. Pretend I'm one of your straight friends. What's it like to be gay?"

"Are you serious?"

"Dead. Now answer the question."

Dave stared for a long moment, then said, "I dunno, what's it like to be straight?" Kurt actually had to catch his breath. "I just... I look at guys the same way most guys look at girls." He shrugged. "That's it."

Another silence followed.

"What?" Dave finally said, crinkling his brow. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no..." Kurt's voice sounded distant to his own ears. "On the contrary. That was... I didn't think you'd absorb what I've been trying to say so quickly..."

Dave chuckled. "What else have I got to do, stuck up here? Besides... I kinda think I knew all the time what was going on. I just didn't want to face facts. Guess that makes me a huge moron, doesn't it?"

Kurt shook his head. "No more so than thousands, maybe millions, of other gay men before you. See? Even in the closet, you're not alone."

"Hah, I guess..." Dave sighed. "I think part of the reason is _because_ I denied it for so long, y'know? I mean, there's most of me, in my head, my... mental image, I guess. And then there's this great big black hole in it that I tried to never think about, ever — because I couldn't make myself like girls, no matter how hard I tried. So I never got to... I dunno, make my feelings about love and shit part of the whole mental image, y'know? Maybe that made it... easier for me once I stopped denying it?" He shrugged. "Does that make any sense?"

"More than you think," Kurt said slowly.

"It's like what you were saying before, with me being a jigsaw puzzle. I guess now that I'm thinking about that part of me, it just seems to... fit."

"So how does it feel? To be whole?"

"... Weird. I don't know yet."

"Fair enough. So how about a little test?"

"Test? What kind of test?"

"Answer one question without stammering or blushing or fainting."

Dave's brow crinkled. "Okay..."

"What kind of guys are you attracted to?"

Kurt could almost hear Dave's mental machinery start grinding and smoking. "Wow, you don't fuck around, do you, Hummel?"

"I thought this entire week demonstrated pretty clearly that no, I don't fuck around. Now can you answer the question?"

Dave fell silent again. Kurt watched, and waited. When he saw Dave's face and eyes set with determination, his own spine jolted in anticipation. "I guess I'm kind of at the extremes. I like muscles and shit like that, but I also like the more... girly types." Kurt had no idea what kind of stormy look came over him, but Dave's reaction told him a little of the story. "Not girly! I mean... Smaller, I guess. But still with a little meat to 'em. Guess the main thing is, they've gotta be strong somehow. 'Cause even if they can't bench press worth a damn, they can still be strong, inside." His voice turned almost wistful. "I like that. It's a huge turn-on. Maybe because... I feel like I'm not strong, and I want that in my life somehow."

There was a lot churning in Kurt's head and gut, but this was the part he actually gave voice to: "I think you already are. Strong, I mean. Maybe you didn't deal with your sexuality all that well at first, but you've progressed so far so fast, I think you're right that you've always known on some level that you're gay. But lots of men do, and not all of them have handled it and accepted it as well as you have. I think that speaks a lot to who you really are inside — and, in my opinion, he's a much better and stronger person that the one you were pretending to be."

"I..." Dave turned away — pretty much a full 180. Kurt waited patiently as he wiped his face and only turned back after several minutes. "Thanks," he rasped.

"You said that already. You don't need to say that anymore. I know." It felt like time for a break; Kurt rose. "C'mon, why don't we go back to the cabin. You can help me clean up, because I have absolutely no faith in most of the others to do it, then we can figure out lunch?"

"Yeah. Sounds good." Dave also rose, as if eager to break the mood.

They returned to a silent cabin, with only glances exchanged. It wasn't until Dave went to the bathroom after lunch that the others cornered him.

"So what happened?" Finn asked.

"I think..." Kurt paused to consider, though he knew he didn't have a lot of time; his eyes flickered towards the closed bathroom door. "I think he's there. I don't think he's completely whole yet, but... he's a lot better. He definitely isn't going to go to any straight camp willingly."

There was a sigh of relief — from whom, Kurt had no idea.

"So that's it, right?" Santana said. "We can go home now, right?"

"No, not yet." All four of the others groaned in unison. "We're close, we're really close, but I want to make absolutely sure he's emotionally ready to face what he's going to face back in Lima. Besides, Dad hasn't called yet, remember? I don't think it's a good idea to go back until his end is clear."

The bathroom door banged open. All the teenagers turned as Dave strolled out. He took in the huddle in the corner of the living room for a moment. "Go ahead," he said. "I know you're talking about me, it's fine. I'm not even here." He calmly sat at the dining table and started dealing himself a hand of solitaire.

Though he had no idea what it was about that particular moment, that was the first time Kurt really started to relax. That was the first time he could truly see the end near.

* * *

 **DAY EIGHT: Friday**

Not much happened on Friday. There were no earth-shattering, soul-shaking moments of emotional release or realization. It was, for the most part, a completely normal day full of completely normal activities. They had breakfast. Dave and Finn went for a hike. They had lunch. The five New Directions members discussed and debated Regionals, with Dave listening (and even making a remark from time to time, much to their astonishment). They had dinner. They played poker (Kurt came in third this time; he felt like he was finally getting a hold of this game).

The only time their primary purpose came up was during the afternoon, just before the Regionals debate, while everyone was recovering from lunch and doing their own thing. It felt like the right time to take Dave aside and say, "Look, I wanted to apologize. For kidnapping you. Honestly, I was desperate, and I couldn't think of any way to make you listen and reconsider the straight camp willingly..."

"You were right," Dave said flatly. "No way I would've listened. My head... It was so fucked up after everything that happened..."

"Um..." Kurt felt himself heat up. "About that..."

"No," Dave interrupted with a glare. "No. If you won't listen to my apologies anymore, I sure as fuck won't listen to any of yours. The... the _idea_ of you needing to apologize to me is so completely stupid..."

"Just because someone deserves something to happen to them doesn't mean it's right to _make_ it happen." Kurt wouldn't normally have assigned such direct responsibility to Dave's face, but felt like he was capable of hearing it — maybe even needed to hear it. "And what I did... No matter what the circumstances, what I did was _wrong_. This debate comes up all the time when discussing outing prominent people, especially those who are anti-gay, and I've always, _always_ believed that it was wrong. So in a way, it doesn't matter what you did or what you think, Dave — _I_ betrayed some of my most deeply held beliefs, and I won't feel better until I apologize." He finally took a decent breath so he could say, "I'm sorry, Dave. I'm sorry I outed you. I should've let you deal with your sexuality at your own pace, in your own time. I came this close to ruining your entire life, and that wasn't my decision to make, no matter what stake I had in it. I'm sorry."

It took Dave a couple of seconds to reply. "Look, Kurt, I know you feel bad, but if anyone deserves a pass, it's you. I put you under a lot of pressure. That probably made you do stuff you usually wouldn't do."

"Maybe, but it was still my decision. I made it with a clear mind, and—"

"Stop it. Stop it right now." Dave gripped Kurt's shoulders, a gesture that mere weeks ago would've sent him into a tense freeze. But not now — maybe not ever again. "You put your entire life on the line for someone who threatened to _kill_ you. You got friends and family who did the same, just 'cause you asked them to. You're a good person, Kurt, and I still hate that I tried to destroy that. Maybe you feel like you did something wrong, but then you tried to _make it right_. That's way more than most people do." Dave sighed. "I know you're not gonna let this go until I say this, no matter how wrong it feels, so... I accept your apology. I forgive you, okay?" Dave stared at him for a long moment before Kurt realized that he hadn't answered. "Okay?" he repeated.

Kurt took a while to say, "Yeah. Okay."

"So this is the _last_ time we'll ever talk about this again, right?"

"When the hell did we change roles? I didn't ask for this."

Dave was obviously not willing to let Kurt slide with a weak joke. "The last time."

Kurt sighed. "Fine. Yes, all right. The last time."

"Good." With a firm nod, Dave spun on his heel and walked briskly back into the living room. He couldn't have sent a stronger "end of conversation" signal if he'd used an air horn.

So yes, it wasn't an earth shattering or soul shaking day. But it was still worthwhile.

Kurt would remember it later as one of the last days of calm normalcy before the storm.

* * *

 **DAY NINE: Saturday**

Dave laughed.

That's all it took. The entire rest of the table immediately stopped what they were doing (in Finn's case, his forkful of waffle was halfway to his mouth) and stared.

Dave's laugh immediately petered out. "What?" He seemed to reflect for a moment. "Oh. Sure. Yeah. I guess..." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess I have been kind of a Debbie Downer this week, huh?"

"Hey, man, if anybody had a right to be bummed, it was you," Puck said.

"Yeah, I know, but..." Dave took a deep breath. "I want to thank you guys." He looked at each face in turn: Puck, Finn, Santana, Mike. "For sticking your necks out to help me. I was a total bastard to all of you, and I'm sorry for that. If it weren't for Kurt..."

"A lot of things would be different if it weren't for Kurt." Kurt himself wasn't sure what he was more startled by: the sentiment, or the person who said it. "But that's why we came," Finn continued. "Because he convinced us this was the right thing to do. He was right."

"Fuck yeah."

"Agreed."

"Same here."

Kurt's heart felt as though it would burst from sheer joy and gratitude.

"So, Karofsky..." Santana began, much more carefully than Kurt would've expected, "what about your pastor and his camp?"

Dave inhaled sharply. "I don't want to go," he said. "Not anymore." The feeling of relief around the table from the others was so palpable that Kurt's heart strained at his emotions again. "But I'm not sure I'll have a choice. I'm still a minor, and my mom..."

A sly look shot around the table. Kurt cleared his throat. "Ah, yes... Dave, that was the last thing I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry, but I felt like I had to keep it from you until I was sure..."

"And? Are you sure now?"

He didn't even need a second to think about it. "Yes, I am. Go get it," he said to Santana. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, she leaped to her feet and scurried into her room. Within seconds, she emerged with a smartphone in hand.

"I knew it!" Dave crowed. "I _knew_ you had a fucking phone! Where was it?"

"Like I'm gonna tell you," Santana snorted. "I'll tell you one thing: it was somewhere I would've kneed you in the crotch for even _thinking_ of looking."

"Got it," Dave said quickly, wisely letting the matter drop. He scooted his chair closer to Kurt, who took the phone, peering over his shoulder as the screen lit up. "Bars. I knew it!"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart." Kurt didn't sound nearly as sarcastic as he expected himself to sound — not that the thought held his attention for long. "There's a text from my dad," he said softly. The rest of the table fell silent.

"So? What's that mean?" Dave asked.

Kurt finally turned towards Dave. "I'd asked around about your family. I wanted to know what kind of people would do this to their son." Dave shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "From everything I found out, your mother was the main driving force."

"Yeah, sounds right."

"Your father, however... He doesn't go to St. Luke's with you, does he?" Dave shook his head. "I thought that might mean he could be persuaded. So I asked my parents to sit down with him while we were gone."

Dave swallowed; his Adam's apple danced. "And...?"

Instead of answering, Kurt dialed a number. He held the phone to his ear for agonizing seconds. "Dad? I got your message. Did he...? He's _there_? Now? Yes! Yes, Dave's right here...!" He shoved the phone into Dave's hands. Dazed, he picked it up.

"Hello...? Dad...?! Dad, I—" A long pause. "Dad, I—" Still another. Tears began to well in Dave's eyes. "No, don't, I—" Pause; Kurt could actually hear the mutterings of a voice on the other end. "Yeah, yeah, of course." Pause. "No, I don't. I'm... I'm gay, Dad, and I think I'm kinda starting to accept that. I—" Pause. "But what about...?" Pause. "Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, we'll talk when you get here. Okay, okay! Bye!" He lowered the phone, still looking dazed. "Dad..." he choked. He had to start again. "He and Mr. Hummel have been talking all week. He... he said he loves me, and... and he's gonna do whatever it takes to stop Mom from sending me to Father Mitchell's camp..."

Puck whooped, punching the air. Finn and Mike high-fived each other. Santana merely sat there with a satisfied smirk.

"He's coming up to get me," Dave continued, as if he'd never been interrupted. "Rachel's coming too, and we're all gonna talk..."

Kurt felt like he didn't have bones. Without thinking, without the slightest pause to consider, he leaped up and pulled Dave into a tight hug. Just as immediately, he felt Dave's arms embrace him, his shoulder muffling Dave's sobs.

* * *

Rachel arrived a couple of hours later, giddy with triumph. She hugged Dave tightly; he actually let her. She babbled about petitions and police protection and publicity; Kurt was actually drained enough to let her.

She droned on, for the next two hours, until past sunset. It was only when she paused, and declared that she was hungry, that someone voiced the thought.

"Shouldn't Mr. Karofsky be here by now?" Mike said.

"He did say he was coming up right away..." Dave looked down at his own phone, returned by Rachel. "No messages."

"None on mine, either." Kurt shrugged. "He probably got lost. He'll be here soon."

With cosmic timing, there was the grinding of tires outside. Dave was on his feet first; he rushed out the door before anyone else's butt so much as left their seat. When the others pressed outside, they nearly collided into Dave, who was staring.

Staring at the sheriff's squad car rumbling to a stop in front of the cabin.

A uniformed sheriff climbed out, looking at each of them in turn. "Is there a David Karofsky here?"

"Y-yeah..." Dave stepped forward. "Yeah, that's me."

The man's face turned grim. As he too stepped forward, Kurt saw a crumpled piece of paper in the sheriff's hand. "Do you know a Paul Karofsky?"

"Yeah, he's my dad. What—?" He looked down at the paper. "That's his handwriting..." Looking over Dave's shoulder, Kurt saw hastily scribbled directions to the cabin.

"Son..." There was something about the way the sheriff said that word that immediately plunged Kurt's heart into his gut. "I'm afraid I have some bad news..."

* * *

Paul Karofsky hadn't been able to leave Lima until almost sunset. That was the key factor. Between his stress, his distraction, the darkness of rural roads, his unfamiliarity with the area...

It took almost an hour after the accident for someone to pass by and report it.

The hospital was small, but obviously recently renovated; the waiting room was clean, new, and modern. Sitting there when Kurt, Dave, and the others burst in was a redheaded woman, her back to the doors.

"Mom!"

The woman immediately rose and turned; her face was blotchy, her eyes red. "David!"

The two rushed forward and embraced, their shoulders heaving with sobs.

Even as the others watched the scene, all Kurt could think was one thing — one thing he gave voice to, in a whisper.

"There's nobody left to stop her now..."

The gathered members of New Directions watched, in silence, as the survivors of Paul Karofsky consoled each other in their grief.


	6. Chapter 6

Paul Karofsky was an only child. His parents were dead.

So the only people in the world left to bury him were his wife and children.

This was an extremely delicate time. On one hand, Kurt knew that Dave needed space and time to grieve. On the other hand, it was equally vital that nobody, especially Mrs. Karofsky, was able to use the tragedy as a lever to get Dave to agree to the straight camp. Kurt was able to get some information from the few texts he sent Dave, but not nearly enough.

It was rather like trying to use piano wire as a tightrope.

A couple of days after the funeral, Burt Hummel suggested that they visit the Karofsky house to offer help. "You remember what it was like when... when your mother died, right?" Kurt nodded grimly; he had no time for the emotions and memories welling up within him, so he tamped them down for now. "David and his mom are probably falling apart right now. No matter what happens, I think it's only right that we do what we can for them. Might also give us an idea about what we can do with... other things."

"I completely agree."

Burt hesitated, then laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "You know this isn't your fault, right?" Silence. "Right?" Still silence. "Fine, then, if you want to blame anyone, blame me. I offered to come up to the cabin with him, but he didn't want me to 'go to the trouble'. If I'd insisted, he'd probably still be alive—"

"No!" Kurt burst out desperately.

Burt nodded. "Okay, then. It was an accident. Accidents happen. It wasn't anybody's fault, so no more thinking otherwise, okay?"

Easier said than done, but for his dad's sake — for Dave's sake — he had to try. "O-okay."

All four of the Hudson-Hummels piled into the car for the short yet interminable drive to the Karofsky house. A casserole dish sat in Carole's lap, condensation already forming on the inside of the Pyrex lid. About halfway through the drive, Burt said suddenly, "Hey, Kurt... You know how you told me to tell the Karofskys that David had gone camping with you?"

Kurt and Finn glanced at each other nervously. "Y-yeah?" Kurt stammered.

"You said you'd persuade him to go with you, and I've been thinking... It seems like kind of a coincidence that he 'forgot' his phone, and..." They were at a red light; Burt took the opportunity to look over his shoulder, at Kurt and Finn. Both stiffened. "You _did_ talk to him, right? Convince him to listen to you?"

Kurt gulped, but said, loudly and clearly, "That's what Dave said, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's what he said, but..." There was a pause. Then Burt Hummel shook his head. "You know what, forget it. I don't want to know."

 _That was the point_. The two stepbrothers breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

When they arrived, Kurt found himself wishing they could just turn around and go home again. Just being here — he could feel a kind of stifling _atmosphere_ oozing about the normal-looking house looming over him. It was a feeling he remembered all too well, and had hoped he'd never have to experience again.

But no, he couldn't leave now. Not with his conscience and pride intact.

So he walked, stiffly, alongside his father and stepbrother up the walk and watched as his stepmother rang the doorbell.

It took a few minutes for the door to open. Mrs. Karofsky's eyes were red, her face was drawn, and she looked like she'd actually shrunk an inch or two from when Kurt first met her.

Since his was the face she actually knew, Kurt was the one to step forward first, even though every inch of him was screaming against it. "Hello, Mrs. Karofsky," he said, in a voice that sounded surprisingly even to his ears. "I'm Kurt Hummel. David's friend."

 _Friend..._ Never had speaking that word felt so... weird. But then, was a single thing that had happened in his life for the past few months — or maybe even longer — normal?

Mrs. Karofsky stared at him blankly for what had to be less than a second, but to Kurt, felt like an uncomfortable hour. Finally, she nodded. "Yes," she said softly, "I remember. You were at the hospital."

"Debra?" Carole stepped forward. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Carole Hudson, Finn Hudson's mother." Mrs. Karofsky nodded once more. "I hope you don't mind, but we just... We wanted to see how you were holding up, and if we could offer any help." She wryly lifted up the Pyrex dish. "Or a casserole."

"That's... that's very kind of you. Please, come in." She stepped aside as the somber quartet shuffled in, a little hesitantly, as if not quite believing the permission they were given.

Or maybe they felt like they were stepping on a grave just by being there.

"Debra?" A tall man with greying brown hair emerged from the direction of what was apparently the living room. The white collar peeking out from under his black lapels immediately sent Kurt's nerves buzzing. "If you have guests, I'll be glad to wait until tom—"

"No, no, Father, these are friends of David's and their parents."

"Right," Burt said through a cough. "I'm Burt Hummel, Kurt's dad."

"I'm Father Andrew Mitchell. The Karofsky family goes to my church. I'm very pleased to meet you." He stuck out a hand; Kurt wasn't sure how Burt managed to shake it without recoiling at the slime he undoubtedly felt. He said a silent prayer in his mind that the Father wouldn't offer one to him; he wouldn't be responsible for his reaction if that happened.

Well, best way to avoid making a scene was to be proactive. "Um, Mrs. Karofsky, is David...?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course. He's in his room. Just go up those stairs, to the back of the hall, and up another flight of stairs. David will be very happy to see you." She turned to the two adults. "Why don't you join us in the kitchen? I have some coffee brewing."

"Thank you, that'd be lovely." With a brief but significant nod to the boys, Carole followed Mrs. Karofsky towards the kitchen, Father Mitchell close behind. Burt hovered for a brief second, giving a weird look to his two sons that could've meant anything, before following himself. Kurt and Finn were alone in the foyer for only a fleeting moment before the former tromped up the stairs, unable to stand the all too familiar _quiet_. Finn's heavy footfalls echoed behind him.

As Mrs. Karofsky said, there was a door at the end of the second floor hall that led to a second flight of stairs. At the top of that brief flight was another door; light was peeking out from underneath. Kurt knocked, the sound striking his ears as somewhat hesitant.

It took a while for a voice to respond, "I'm not hungry."

"It's Kurt," Kurt said, kicking himself mentally for not having said that straight out.

"Kurt?!" Dave sounded startled.

"Yeah, Finn is with me. Our parents wanted to stop by and offer help, so we, uh... We wanted to see... how... you were...?" Kurt winced. His friends often told him that he had a very good vocabulary. He needed to, for his future career and the media attention that would follow. Then there was his performing arts training, which was supposed to help him with stage fright and handling an audience. All of those skills felt like they fled to greener pastures the instant he talked to Dave. For not the first time, Kurt found himself wondering if he was hurting Dave more than helping.

His thought process was interrupted by movement behind the door, the shuffling of feet against carpet. Then the door creaked open.

"Hey." Dave was a little disheveled, and his eyes were bleary, but he seemed otherwise okay, physically. He nodded towards Finn, who gave him a very heterosexual nod back. "C'mon in."

The room wasn't quite what Kurt had expected, given stereotypes. It was blue, for one thing. For another, it was actually tidy. ( _Maybe his parents made him clean..._ But that thought led to all sorts of hazardous places.) For yet another, oddly enough, there were the model airplanes hanging from a mobile above the bed. Kurt wasn't sure what it was about that particular detail, but it jumped out at him at once.

Dave shut the door behind him and sat heavily on his bed — so heavily that Kurt could actually hear the springs creak. Kurt decided to sit on the chair in front of the desk. Finn took the floor, having nowhere else to sit (well, nowhere that wouldn't be _too_ close to Dave, Finn being straight, don't you know), but he didn't seem to mind.

Dave's half lidded eyes passed over both of them, but he said nothing.

Finn, surprisingly enough, was the first one to say something. But maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise; all three of them knew what it was like to lose a parent. "How are you holding up, man?"

It took a moment for Dave to answer. "Bad. Getting better, but still bad." Both of his peers nodded sympathetically. "It's like... I keep wondering... It feels like it's my fault..."

Kurt was afraid he'd go down that road. Personal experience told him that nothing would ever banish the self-blame completely and forever. But maybe his dad had the right idea... "If it's your fault, then it's mine too. He never would've been on that road if I hadn't kidnapped you. And I wouldn't have done that if I hadn't outed you to start with."

Dave's head shot up, eyes wide. "Oh, God, Kurt, no... Please, _please_ tell me you don't blame yourself..."

 _Ah, irony._ He'd always found it funny in the past, but these days, it was mostly... bitter. "It was an accident, Dave. Accidents happen." Kurt wondered how his dad would've reacted had he been here. "It could've happened on your dad's way to work, or coming home from the grocery store. You didn't kill him, any more than I did. All right?"

A long pause, then a small nod. "F-fine." Kurt wasn't sure how sincere it was, but it wasn't like he was going to insist.

"It's okay not to be okay, you know," Finn said. "I was a huge mess when my dad died. Kurt was probably one too when his mom died." Huh, Kurt hadn't expected that from Finn. But then, again, this was something they all had sad experience with now.

"I'm not," Dave said. "Believe me, I'm not. But I'm a little more okay than I was yesterday. And a hell of a lot more okay than I was the day before that. I'm..." He squeezed his eyes shut as tears leaked from them. "Fuck, I'm actually getting used to my dad being dead..."

Kurt was the first one to wrap Dave in a hug, but only because he was closer; Finn followed a second later. Kurt wondered if his stepbrother was getting carried away in memories of his own loss too, as he rubbed Dave's back and let his tears empty out on his shoulder. It went on for a while, but Kurt didn't mind; he figured he was paying forward his own dad's patience, waiting to cry his own inevitable tears until after he'd comforted his young son.

Finally, Dave lifted his head. Kurt snatched a tissue from a box on the desk and handed it to Dave, who wiped his eyes almost violently. He exhaled, long and stuttering. "Yeah... Things haven't been going too good," he said with a wry irony that Kurt could almost appreciate.

While Dave definitely wasn't "okay," as he'd said, he definitely seemed more stable, so Kurt decided to bring up the point that was haunting him. "Father Mitchell is here," he said simply. He figured he had no need to get any further into the implications, and he was right.

Dave's face turned stormy, but this time not with grief. Kurt was perversely relieved. "Yeah," he said.

"Has he been pushing the straight camp?"

"No, thank God." Dave snorted in laughter, almost unwillingly, probably at the irony. "I mean, it's pretty obvious how broken up my mom is. Sometimes I almost think he really wants what's best for us."

"What _he_ thinks is best," Kurt pointed out. "That almost makes it worse."

Dave nodded. "Yeah."

"But eventually, your mother's going to recover..."

Dave's face became downcast — not for his father this time, but for himself. "Yeah," he repeated.

"What will you do then?"

"I... I don't know." He sighed. "To be honest, just thinking about it scares the fuck out of me. I'm not gonna be 18 for a while yet, and she's my mom, so..." Dave looked at Kurt dead in the eyes. "I was actually thinking of running away." Kurt gave an involuntary gasp he wasn't quite able to suppress. "But it wouldn't help. My mom knows people. She'd find me. And it's not like starving out on the streets would be a huge improvement." He straightened his back, set his shoulders — a deliberate effort, Kurt thought. "Maybe I can just... play along. I mean, I know what those places are like now, right? I know what to expect. I can just pretend..."

Kurt wasn't sure he liked the idea of exposing Dave to that kind of torture, even if he could take it. Then again, it wasn't like he had a better suggestion at the moment (and he'd been trying to think of one ever since that fateful evening at the hospital). So instead he said, "Whatever you decide is best for you, Dave... I'll support you. I'll help whatever way I can."

"Yeah, same here," Finn chimed in.

It took a while for Dave to reply. "Th-thanks, guys. It means a lot to know that. Seriously, it does. It almost makes me feel like things might be okay..."

There was a knock on the door; both Dave and Kurt jumped to their feet. The door creaked open without waiting for a reply. But it wasn't Mrs. Karofsky or Father Mitchell who entered the room then — it was a young man Kurt had never seen before. He was in his early 20's, with tussled red hair and green eyes that reminded Kurt very distinctly of Mrs. Karofsky.

"Hey."

Dave was the first to speak. "Jack... Uh..." He turned to the others. "This is Jack, my older brother. He was going to college in California. He's here for... y'know... the funeral..." He returned his still somewhat dazed gaze back to his brother. "Jack, these are Kurt and Finn."

Jack nodded towards them both. "Hi. Dave's told me a lot about you two. That's actually why I'm here. I heard you guys arrive, and..." He shut the door behind him. Then, to Kurt's mild surprise, he locked it, the bolt snapping home with a click that Kurt almost thought echoed. He strode towards them, then sat on the floor, next to Finn and in front of Dave.

It was Dave who asked the question on Kurt's mind. "Jack... what the fuck do you want?"

Jack took a deep breath. "I've been thinking. A lot. And I've made a decision. You're not going to talk me out of it, so don't even bother trying."

Dave raised a suspicious eyebrow. Kurt hadn't had a sibling for all that long, but he instinctively knew, at least generally, what Dave must've been thinking, remembering, feeling... "Okay..."

"I wanted to wait until you had friends here. I thought it'd be important, because I don't think I can do this alone..."

"For fuck's sake, man, get to the fucking point."

"I want to apply for custody of you," Jack burst out.

There was dead silence. The entire world's volume had shut off.

"Wh-what...?" Dave finally managed to choke out. He stared at his brother. "Oh, my God... you're fucking serious, aren't you?"

"Dead."

Finn was staring at both Karofsky brothers, jaw dropped in almost comic astonishment, as if he were watching a soap opera plot unfold.

Dave started to stand, but practically fell back onto the bed, as if dizzy. "You... you have to be shitting me. You can't have custody of me. You're barely 21!"

"Still an adult," Jack said defiantly.

"Do you even have a real job?"

"Yeah, I do, fuck you very much. And I think I can buy my condo with my share of the inheritance from Dad. Let me worry about all that—"

"Let _you_ worry about that? The _courts_ are gonna worry about that! _I'm_ gonna worry about that! This is _my fucking life_ , Jack! And..." Whatever emotion was driving Dave was starting to peter out. "We haven't lived together in almost four years. We barely talked all that time! I'm just now getting it through my skull that for some reason, you actually don't hate me for the way I treated you. And now, already, you're talking about... basically _adopting_ me?"

"You're my brother," Jack said firmly. "And it's better than whatever I know — _know_ — Mom will dish out on you. She won't _think_ she's abusing you, but she's going to. You know that." He looked between Kurt and Finn. "And if what you told me is true, your friends _definitely_ know that."

"I..." Some kind of light was returning to Dave's eyes. It was dim, but definitely there, and definitely stubborn. Hope...? "This will never work, Jack."

"It can. It will."

"Mom will never go for it."

"To hell with what she wants."

"The _state_ will never go for it."

"I'm working on that. Which is where your friends come in."

Kurt snapped to attention. "Us?"

Jack sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I wasn't sure this was gonna work myself, because I thought I was basically alone in this. But then Dave told me about what you guys did, and..." He looked at Kurt and Finn in turn. "You stuck your neck out for my brother. I think that says a lot about you... and him. Look, I'm gonna need all the help I can get. Dave's right — the odds are basically stacked against us. Our mom's family is going to stay out of this at best and throw money on her side at worst. But I think I'll have a _lot_ better chance of succeeding the more people I have on my side. People who know people who can help. People who..." He swallowed audibly. "People who care about Dave as much as I do." He looked at Kurt and Finn pleadingly; Dave remained absolutely silent. "Please tell me I can count on you." His eyes were desperate, pleading.

It only took Kurt a moment to answer. "Obviously, Dave hasn't told you enough about us, if you think that's even a question."

"Not just us, either," Finn said with a nod. "You guys _definitely_ aren't alone in this."

"Dude, you look like you're about to cry," Dave said jeeringly to Jack through his own wet eyes and choked throat.

"Thanks," Jack whispered. "This means so much to me, you don't know..."

"I think I do, actually," Kurt replied. "At least a little."

"I still can't believe you were thinking about this all this time, and this is the first I've heard about it," Dave cut in.

"I didn't want to get your hopes up. Fuck, I'm not sure if that isn't what I'm doing right now." Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

Kurt had questions — lots of questions. But he was already reeling under his own questions: what could he and Finn do, exactly? Could they count on the New Directions members that hadn't been part of this scheme to begin with? And why the hell did he take on a new burden right after being relieved of his old one?

Well, at least he had an answer to that last question: because that self-imposed burden had never left. The tragedy in the Karofsky family made sure of that.

Kurt and Finn didn't spend too much longer in that room — not when their parents could be ready to go at any moment. Besides, Kurt had the feeling there'd be plenty of talking later. So they gave Dave one last final embrace, murmuring promises of additional future contact. Finn was the first to leave, Kurt following. He was so wrapped up in his own plans and speculations that he literally jumped when someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

He spun around to see Jack Karofsky. "Sorry about that." He glanced up the stairs at the light shining from his brother's room, then gently shut the door behind him. "I, uh... I wanted to say thanks. Again. I had no idea what was going on here. If I had, I swear, I would've done something a lot sooner..."

"I know," Kurt said with a nod. Not that he knew for sure, but he could scarcely disbelieve it now. "How long are you planning to stay here?"

There was more to the question than it appeared on the surface, but Jack seemed to comprehend that immediately. "As long as I can. But I can't stay forever, not if I want to pass my classes and keep my job for if Dave..." He sighed. "I don't know if this'll work..." He looked at Kurt, as if for some kind of reassurance; Kurt desperately wished he was able to give one. "... But I need to at least try." He paused for a bare moment. "Look, I really need your help..."

"And you have it."

"Not just with that. I mean... I don't know what Dave's told you, but we... haven't really gotten along these past few years. We're just beginning to build things back up between us, and I'll probably be spending most of my time awake either in a lawyer's office or doing research, and... Dave needs you." The concept was nothing new to Kurt, but his spine jolted with energy nonetheless. "He needs his friends. He needs more emotional support than he can get from just me. He... Like I said, he needs to know he's not alone."

Kurt nodded. "He won't be. I promise."

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks. Just... thanks."

"Of course." He continued back down the hall to join his family; from the sound of it, Jack didn't move, probably just watching his retreating back. One trial was over, but another was just beginning. He wondered when the next phase would begin, the next shoe would drop.

As it turned out, it was a couple of days after the end of the school year.


	7. Chapter 7

**\- she tried it**

It was a single text from Dave, but it fully got Kurt's attention, because he knew immediately exactly what Dave was talking about, and what deep waters it was opening. The summer reading list was instantly forgotten. First, a reply:

 **\- Where are you?**

Then a quick phone call. He wasn't certain it was necessary yet, but he was pretty sure it would be.

 **\- outside your house**

Kurt groaned and shook his head. He immediately charged out his front door, almost bowling his innocent father over, and stalked down the front walk. Parked at the curb was indeed David Karofsky, sitting in his car like a lump, staring down at his phone. Kurt rapped on the driver's side window; Dave rolled it down.

"How long have you been sitting out here?" Kurt snapped.

Dave looked up, his lips quirked in a half-grin. It was almost as though the very sight of Kurt was a relief — little surprise, considering what he must've just gone through with his mother. "Chill, Hummel, I texted as soon as I got here." The half grin shattered. "I was too worked up to give you any more warning."

Kurt was rapidly calming. He could just see a backpack and a green duffel bag sitting in the back seat. He circled around the car and pulled at the passenger side door. It was locked. "Let me in."

Dave popped the lock, and watched with surprise as Kurt slid inside. "We're not going inside?"

"Your mom knows me; this'll be one of the first places she looks. I have a plan. I'll give you directions."

Dave stared for a moment, then shrugged and pulled away from the curb as Kurt buckled himself in. About half a block down the street, a ringtone went off. Dave glanced at his phone, and his face puckered, as if he'd just sucked on a lemon. He jabbed at the screen, and the phone went dark, cutting off the ringtone. He tossed the phone over his shoulder; Kurt heard it bounce off one of the bags and clatter to the floor.

"Was that...?"

"Yeah."

Kurt swallowed. "Dave... I won't press, because we have too many things to worry about right now. But I would like you to talk about this soon—if not to me, then to _someone_ , because this is a big deal, Dave. She's your mother; your feelings about her can't just change overnight. But until then, I'll tell you this: you are doing the right thing. You are _absolutely_ doing the right thing. Ultimately, the person in the best position to watch over you is you. It's not wrong or selfish; it's survival. No matter how good your mother's intentions are, what she wants you to do is abuse, and you don't have to take it. Okay?"

Dave's hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he gave a small nod. "Okay."

Kurt was so busy trying to figure out if it was safe to feel relieved, he almost missed it. "Turn right! Turn right!" he yelped. Dave gave the wheel a sharp turn; the tires underneath them screeched, and Kurt was almost slammed against the door. "Hey! Where'd you learn to drive, NASCAR?"

"Give me a little more fucking warning next time," Dave grumbled, but without heat or bitterness.

Such was the rather weird... friendship that had developed between Kurt and Dave after that fateful spring break. Since Dave was still officially withdrawn from McKinley High School, Kurt took it upon himself to arrange meetings with Dave once in a while—at least once a week—in some comfortable, neutral location (before the funeral, he couldn't even countenance the idea of visiting the Karofsky home, for an array of reasons both simple and complex). It was usually the Lima Bean, the same Lima Bean where he'd kidnapped Dave (more than once, Dave jokingly—mostly jokingly—made it a point to keep an eye on his coffee, and bat Kurt's hand away whenever he tried to touch it).

Kurt's main objective to make sure that Dave knew that _someone_ was there for him in these difficult times, and quite frankly, he was the best choice for the role, given everything that had already happened, and what he'd already done. (Plus, it did his own peace of mind a world of good to personally see how well Dave was doing, for better or for worse, instead of relying on secondhand reporting.) At first it was kind of a duty—one that he undertook willingly and gladly, but still something he had to go out of his way to do, especially while school was still in session and New Directions was still plodding on in the competition scene, despite the daily hijinks.

But as one meeting melted into another into another into another, Kurt actually found himself starting to... look forward to the time he spent with Dave. Looking back on it, one reason was that Dave was possibly the best listener he had in his life. Almost everyone around him and close to him liked to talk and talk, and be the center of attention (himself included; he was under no delusions there). His dad was the major exception, but anyone with a parent knew that no matter how close you were, there were just some things that were a little uncomfortable to discuss with a parent, especially when their sexualities differed.

But Dave... Dave was knowledgeable about the players in Kurt's life without being involved. He was normally pretty quiet (a lot more quiet than Kurt expected, having only known him during his bully phase), and seemed content to just sit at the other side of the table and let Kurt ramble on and on about the glee club and Rachel and oh my God when was Finn going to make up his goddamn _mind_ already?! No, more than content—he looked like he was drinking in every word, like a desert dweller at an oasis, his eyes soft but focused.

And Kurt himself actually got a _lot_ out of these times. Occasionally, it would be because Dave would ask a question that would never have occurred to himself, not being an outsider to his own life. But more often, it would be because he'd be talking about a situation, putting in as much context and detail as possible to make it sensible to a neutral party, when suddenly, it would hit him. What "it" was usually differed, but it was always something he was too close to see, being so caught up in the _now_ , and only by telling someone else about it could he actually gain the perspective he needed to realize it. (Once Kurt mentioned this to Artie, and he had said something about rubber ducks that Kurt didn't understand.) Many was the time when he left the Lima Bean wondering just who had gotten more out of the day: Dave or himself.

Not that he ever lost sight of the more important thing here, of course. Dave did talk — whether he wanted to or not. That, of course, was one big issue; this entire clusterfuck wouldn't have happened to begin with if he'd been the emotionally open type. Come to think of it, maybe that's why Dave was such a good listener—it meant that he had less time to do any talking himself. Kurt made a mental note to watch the time in the future.

At first, his questions were mostly about the present—Dave's state of mind, the goings on back home with his mother, updates about Jack's legal search. But slowly, Kurt began nudging more towards the past—the whole Dave, if you will. During one of these chat sessions (a relatively recent one), Dave shrugged and said, "What's so interesting about me?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Even though there's plenty that's obvious, this isn't about 'interesting'. It's about you. You need to get to know the real you just as much as anyone else. You've seen how much talking through things has helped me; I think it'll help you too. Like... what did you like to do when you were a kid?"

"I dunno... Usual shit... Play video games and stuff... Hockey..."

"Is there anything you've ever had interest in, but you didn't pursue for whatever reason?"

Dave furrowed his brow in thought. "Um..." There wasn't much to his eyes—the slightest glint—but the reaction was there; Kurt was sure of that. "I can't think of anything..."

"You liar." Even as he said it, Kurt couldn't help smiling. "Come on, what was it?"

Dave coughed. "Shit, Hummel, can't you mind your own business?"

"Uh, no. Talk to any of my friends in glee—they'll tell you what a meddler I am and always have been. Only this time, I'm using my snooping powers for a greater good than mindless gossip."

"I just... Shit, this is a little embarrassing..."

"I've seen you at your lowest and not judged you. I think—hope—that you feel you can trust me."

"I know, but it's not about trust, I just..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It kind of has something to do with you."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Um..."

"And the rest of the glee club!" Dave added hastily. "I... I just..." His large hands squeezed at each other.

"Take as much time as you need, Dave. I'm patient. But I really do think it'd help you to express yourself more. It's obviously something that's weighed on you for a while. You know very well what those kinds of things can do when they're just allowed to sit and rot. Maybe... airing it out, whatever it is, will help you feel better." Kurt waited, with a little less patience than he'd just said he had, as he sipped his coffee.

Eventually, as Kurt knew he would, Dave let out a big, bear-like sigh and said, "You know how you guys did 'Push It' last year?"

Kurt couldn't help the heat that rose in his cheeks. "Yes, unfortunately. Still better than what Mr. Schue wanted us to do. What about it?"

"Well, it kind of reminded me of something. My mom's always been a big fan of _Dancing With the Stars_. Starting watching when it first came on TV. Once or twice she made me watch with her, and I thought I'd be bored and said I was bored, but..." Dave shrugged, a pitiful attempt at a casual gesture. "It looked kind of... fun, I guess."

"Oh, Dave, it _is_ , I—" No, wait, this is about Dave, remember? "Was that the first time you've had that thought?"

Dave paused. "I... I guess not. I think I remember this one time when I was a kid. Jack had to babysit me, and he dragged me to a dance performance at Thurston because this girl he liked was in it, and..." He trailed off, but this time Kurt let him have this small shred of comfort. "I actually tried the moves they did in my room when I got home. Kinda did the same thing with your guys' performance." Dave flushed.

"And you never did anything else with it because...?" Kurt tried to make the prod as gentle as he could; though he thought he knew the answer, and he figured Dave probably knew too, he was sure it would do Dave a world of good to actually say it.

Although he wasn't sure that Dave actually would, he actually did, much sooner than Kurt had expected. "Because dancing's for fags, of course," he said bitterly. "And yeah, you can point out straight dude dancers all you want, but you know that's what people think." He looked up. "I would have told you that, if you'd tried to get me to do it. If I didn't punch you in the face first."

 _Danger, Will Robinson!_ "If you could," Kurt said hastily, to get Dave off of this mindset, "would you try it? Do you think you'd enjoy it?"

Dave considered for a long moment, staring down into his empty coffee cup. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah," he said, "I think I would."

"Would you do it now?"

"I... I don't know..."

"But you're thinking about it. That's not no."

"No, it's not. Your fault, Kurt. You opened all kinds of doors in my brain that I know I won't be able to shut again." He half-grinned. "I mean, it's not like I have a rep to worry about now. Or friends who..." He trailed off.

"Friends who...?" Kurt prodded.

"Well..." He swallowed. "I was gonna say 'friends who actually care,' but then I thought, I don't have friends anymore, but then I thought of you and Santana and Finn and the others, but then I thought, I shouldn't assume you guys actually think of me as a friend..."

"Well..." Kurt echoed, carefully picking over his words in his head, "maybe we're not friends _yet_ , but... I think the potential's there. At least, I think we're closer than you probably had before..."

Dave nodded dully. "Yeah. Az was the closest one I ever had, and even I knew that if he ever found out..." He shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"It is _so_ a big deal. Look, Dave, I hope you know that you aren't alone."

"I... No, spring break made that kinda clear."

"Good. I think now that you've got a clear head and you're not shoving people around out of terror, you've got a chance to demonstrate to others that you're a three dimensional person worth knowing. It may be slow going, but I think you can and will make new friends who accept you—all of you. And hell, I think you're a lot closer than you think." Kurt couldn't help but smirk. "We still talk about you all the time, you know. The five of us, I mean, the ones who were up at the cabin."

Dave's eyes widened. "Even _Santana_?"

"Even Santana. I'm as surprised as you are, and I think she is too. I guess what I'm saying is, give people a chance, Dave. Have a little faith that who you really are is enough. I think once you let people into your heart, you'll be surprised at how many people embrace it."

"Wow, Hummel, that's really fruity." Kurt cracked up laughing at Dave's deadpan expression and flat voice.

But one reason Kurt remembered this particular conversation at this particular time had a lot to do with his plot in the here and now.

He accurately, if somewhat absently, continued to navigate for Dave until they pulled up in front of what probably looked to his driver as a house just like any house in suburban Lima. Kurt was the first one out of the car. "Come on. Bring your stuff." Dave was obviously confused, but nevertheless silently complied, following Kurt as he jogged up the walk. Kurt jabbed the doorbell. Within moments, the front door swung open.

"Hey, Kurt."

"Hi, Artie. Glad you were home."

"Karofsky." Artie Abrams nodded towards him without a hint of surprise.

Kurt turned to Dave, who looked somewhat discombobulated, and said, "You'll be staying with Artie. If your mom finds out, we've got another bed set up for you elsewhere, and another after that. That's how we're going to stay one step ahead of her. It's like your own personal Underground Railroad."

Dave swallowed. "S-seriously?"

"Seriously. What, did you doubt my master tactical abilities?"

"Yeah, but Artie wasn't _there_ , so he—"

Artie himself cut in. "Okay, Karofsky, let's get one thing straight right now: I still don't really like you. Does that make you feel any better?"

Dave gave a strained laugh. "You know... it kinda does."

"But everything that's happened to you... everything Kurt's told us about... That shit ain't right, none of it." He fixed Dave with a serious stare. "I had to talk this over with my parents, and they agreed."

"As have all your other hiding places, by the way," Kurt chimed in.

"... So you can stay here as long as you need, as long as you don't mind sleeping on the couch in the basement, do some chores, and don't pretend like we're best friends all of a sudden. Think you can handle that?"

Dave stared down at Artie for a long minute, at his rock solid expression. Finally, he nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I think I can handle that."

"Good. So come in already; we're letting out the air conditioning." Artie wheeled aside so that Dave could step over the threshold—hesitantly, as if he were testing for land mines. Once inside, he turned back to Kurt, still standing in the open doorway.

"Kurt... I..."

"We'll talk soon," Kurt said gently. "Believe me, we will. But for now, take some time for yourself. Get settled, work through your feelings about what's happened, all that. You'll probably miss the peace pretty soon."

Dave nodded. "I bet you're right. Thanks, Kurt."

"Of course." Artie raised an eyebrow at Kurt's reply, but said nothing as he swung the door shut. Kurt stared at the closed door for a moment, like an idiot, before making his way back to the car.

When he got home, his dad was on the phone. "No, I haven't seen him," he said to the person on the other end. "And I don't know where he—" He looked up at Kurt, his voice stumbling for a moment, before saying, "... I don't know where he is. Sorry about that. Yes, I'll ask Kurt when he's home. Yes, I will. Bye." He cut off the call and gestured towards the couch. Kurt immediately and silently strode into the living room and sat at one end of it. His dad sat at the other. "You know who that was." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"And you know what she was asking me."

"Yes."

"And this is what all the hush-hush stuff you've been doing lately is all about."

"Yes."

Burt Hummel stared at his son for a long moment; Kurt found it surprisingly easy not to flinch, to meet his father's gaze. Finally, Burt exhaled a long deep sigh. "Kurt... I know how you feel..." _I doubt that_ , Kurt was a whisker away from saying aloud. But he stifled it in time. "... But I hope you realize the kind of risk you're running here."

"A lot less than what I've already done," Kurt said with a casual shrug. And it was true.

Burt grimaced. "He's not your responsibility." Kurt opened his mouth. "Not your _sole_ responsibility."

"I'm not alone. His brother—"

"You know what I mean, goddammit." Burt rubbed his eyes. "If I thought I had any hope of convincing you not to throw yourself even deeper into this mess, I'd try. But since I don't... Just... be careful, okay? I don't want you getting hurt."

"Me? Dave's the one who'll be sent to that damn straight camp..."

"And you'll blame yourself," Burt said flatly. "You'll beat yourself up for not doing more and you'll think it's your fault it happened, even though it's _not_. Dammit, Kurt, I'm _afraid_. I've been scared as hell ever since this whole thing started. If you knew how much sleep I've lost because of this...!" He took a deep breath. "I'm not trying to scare you or make you feel guilty, but as much as I agree with you that Dave Karofsky needs help, he's not my son. You are. And you're _my_ responsibility." He laid a gentle hand over one of Kurt's. "I'm worried about you. Really worried. Not just about you getting into trouble, but what will happen to _you_ if your plans don't work..." He trailed off, blinking rapidly.

Kurt had to swallow down a lump in his throat. Conflicting emotions and impulses were battering his insides so hard he could barely breathe. Finally, he regained the strength to say, "Dad... I need to do this. I know this could still all go sideways, but I _need_ to do this. I know you've been worried, and I'm sorry, but I have to put everything I have into this. Even failing wouldn't be as bad as what I'd feel if I didn't. I hope... I hope you understand..."

"I do," Burt Hummel said wearily. "I kinda wish I didn't, but I do. Just make sure to come to me if you need _anything_ , okay? Even if it's not me, remember that you aren't the only one out there who can help Dave—and you can't _be_ the only one either. If you try to take that on all by yourself... I'll tell Finn and your friends, and make sure they _wrestle_ the whole thing away from you. Got it?"

Kurt almost wanted to laugh, but something about the atmosphere, about his dad's expression, stopped him. Instead, he just nodded. "Yeah. I got it." He started to get up, but then sat back down again. "Dad? I could kind of use a hug right now..."

"Heh, that's funny. So could I."

And they did.

* * *

"Holy crap."

"What?"

The exclamation came from the visiting Jack Karofsky, who was in the passenger seat. The question came from Kurt, who was driving. Dave, sitting in the back, leaned over his brother's shoulder at the cell phone in his hand.

"This guy we're seeing... Winston Smythe... It says here he's the fucking Connecticut state's attorney! I mean, if it's the same guy..."

"It is."

Jack and Dave both turned to him in shock. "And he's representing me?" the latter said. "For free?"

"For free."

"How the _fuck_ did you pull that off?" Jack asked in wonderment.

"It wasn't me." Kurt thought of his own phone in his pocket, of the text conversation still stored on it from two weeks previous.

 **Blaine: Call this number: 860-555-8182  
**

 **Kurt: What?**

 **Blaine: He's an attorney, a really good one. He's the dad of a student who's transferring here. He's expecting your call. His name's Winston Smythe.**

 **Kurt: ... I just Googled that name, but the top results must be for someone else.**

 **Blaine: No, it's the same guy. He's ready and willing to help Dave, for free. Talk to him.**

 **Kurt: I don't know what to say. Thank you. For me and for Dave, thank you so so much.**

 **Blaine: I had to.**

Kurt didn't question that last statement; he knew exactly what Blaine meant. Only too well, in fact.

They met the man at a small upscale cafe near downtown Lima. Winston Smythe was much like the Google Image results had shown: blonde hair stained with streaks of white, bristly mustache, carrying an air of education, stolidity, and most of all, power. But somehow, now, in person, he seemed very much... Well, more _human_. There were worry lines on his face that were never present in any of his official photos, and his hands were clasped on the table in front of him. This was somehow reassuring to Kurt.

"Thank you for taking Dave's case," Jack said.

"Of course. Let's just say I have my reasons... Personal reasons." He nodded to Dave. "Nice to meet you in person at last, young man. We'll be talking much more in the weeks to come; when I was in private practice, I made it a habit to get to know my clients and their lives personally. Made it easier to argue their side of the story."

Dave nodded, still looking a little dazed, as if he was wondering how his life had gotten to this point. If he was, he was definitely not alone. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

"At any rate, I've been doing what research I can to prepare for this case, and..." His mouth set in a grim line. "I have to warn all of you that this is not going to be easy. Or fun."

Dave sighed. "I figured."

"So you all need to know what you're up against. The biggest wild card in this whole situation is your mother's family."

Kurt grimaced. Dave had few negative things to say about the Hearthstones, but...

"Given their wealth and influence, they could upend everything at any time. I'm not sure they will, but it's something we have to be prepared for. Unfortunately, there's not much any of you can do if they do decide to support your mother, but I'm not exactly fresh out of law school myself. If necessary, I have my own resources to call in. Dave, Jack, how much pull do you have with your mother's side of the family?"

The Karofsky boys glanced at each other.

"Well," Jack began slowly, "they like us, at least. And they're not as religious as Mom. But..."

"But she's still family," Smythe said with a nod. "Then again, so are you. Be prepared to ask them to intervene, or not intervene, if it becomes necessary. Anyway, as I said, there's not much else you can do, so try not to worry about it."

All three younger men exchanged wry looks. Each understood immediately what the others were thinking.

 _Fat chance of that_.

"The far more important factor is the family court judge here in Lima. His name is Joshua Franklin. His decisions trend conservative, as you'd probably guess."

"Not good," Kurt muttered.

"He's not the kind of judge who will grant an unusual petition like this unless he's absolutely convinced that it's necessary and in the child's best interest, and I'm not confident he'll think it is. Gay conversion therapy is still seen in a lot of circles as an exercise of religion," Smythe said with a grimace. "It looks like the state of California is going to ban it, so the conversation's started, but obviously that doesn't do us a lot of good in the here and now. I'll be honest, boys: if we were to go into his courtroom right now to argue this, our odds would not be very good, especially with the quality of lawyer your mother is likely to hire."

A chill came over the table. "So... what do we do?" Kurt finally managed to ask.

"I have an idea that may help even the score," Smythe said. "But it's not going to be pleasant."

"What is it?" The words came out of Dave stronger and steadier than Kurt had expected; he wondered who was more surprised at that.

"I'll do everything I can in the courtroom, but again, that may not be enough. If we're going to tilt the odds in our favor as much as possible, we need a force outside the courtroom." Smythe paused for a brief moment, as if steeling himself, then continued. "As I said, the conversation's started on the legality of gay conversion therapy, and that's light years ahead of where public opinion was just five, ten years ago. Gay rights in general are a big national issue. That's why I think what might help is... publicity."

The table turned silent. Kurt was the one to finally break it after long seconds. "Publicity...?" It was asked as a question, but his mind was already filling in the blanks, and his stomach was already churning...

"Yes. We make this a test case, basically put gay conversion therapy on trial. We go to the media, kick up as much of a fuss as possible, get national groups and politicians involved. If the reaction is big enough, however professional Judge Franklin is, he won't be able to help but pay attention, and he'll inevitably hear arguments that I'd never be able to get away with in court. If any of it lingers in his mind, makes him question his beliefs even in the slightest, or even just puts pressure on him to rule in our favor... that's an edge we could desperately use."

Kurt couldn't help but glance at Dave and Jack. Their faces were mostly unreadable, but he could tell they were both actively turning it over in their minds... or maybe clinging to the possibility of hope like a board to a drowning sailor.

"Dave, this is entirely up to you," Mr. Smythe continued. "This is your life. It'll be your name on TV, in the papers, on the blogs. You'll have to speak to the media, probably a lot. I'll do so as well, of course, but yours is the face that will humanize the issue for the country. I feel this is an important decision. Any pressure we can bring to bear on Judge Franklin to nudge him away from his traditional views is vital."

"I get that, but..." Dave swallowed. "You're basically asking me to be, like, a national poster child? Have everyone in the fucking country argue over what happens to _me_? I can't... I don't know if..."

"Of course. You don't have to decide right away, but the sooner you do, the better; things like this can take time to develop."

Jack finally spoke up. When he did, his eyes weren't meeting Mr. Smythe's; rather, it was glued onto the tabletop between them. "But that also means... that anyone who thinks Dave's sexuality can be 'fixed' will get involved too."

"Yes," Mr. Smythe sighed, "that's unavoidable, especially in a small Midwest town. That's why I believe the reach has to be national: to give us a fighting chance against those opposing forces."

"Which will include Father Mitchell and St. Luke's."

"If what I've been told about your mother and her relationship to her church is true, I expect so."

The silence became heavy, like humidity. Both Kurt and Jack were looking at Dave. Dave had such a completely blank expression it was almost comatose; he was just staring at Mr. Smythe, who seemed to take it in stride. He merely sipped at his water as he waited patiently for someone to say something.

"I'll do it."

The words came out of Dave so suddenly it was almost an exclamation.

"Are you sure, son?" Mr. Smythe asked gently.

"Not really," Dave admitted. "But I'm a lot more unsure about winning in court. I've lived in Lima my whole life, and I've assumed this entire time that the judge was just gonna side with my mom without even thinking about it. That's the kind of place this is. But if you really think that this is going to make a difference..."

"I think it will. I don't _know_ it will."

"Yeah, I get that. But you wouldn't have suggested it if you didn't think it was our best shot, right?"

Mr. Smythe nodded slowly. "That's true."

"Then I dunno that I really have a lot of choice. I never wanted this kinda attention, but... if it'll get me out of having to go to that straight camp, then it's a small price to pay." Dave leveled his eyes at Mr. Smythe. "Let's do it."

Kurt wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew that a lot of the strength in Dave's voice was mere hollow bravado. Maybe it was because he'd actually seen Dave both pretending to be brave and actually brave, so he knew what each looked like. In actuality, Dave was probably screaming at himself in his brain to both change his mind and not change his mind.

Not that this was any sort of strike against him, of course. Kurt had little doubt that Jack and Mr. Smythe both knew it too, and it was okay. Dave still had time to back out, and there was a distinct feeling at the table that Kurt had even less doubt was shared by everyone else: this really was Dave's best shot. Outside pressure was the best bet they had to tilt things in their favor, and if they were going to go for it, they had to go big. It was just by incredible luck that Kurt's plan to keep Dave out of Mrs. Karofsky's clutches would also do so for the inevitable media vultures.

Kurt was nervous enough as an interested outside observer. The conflict within Dave himself had to be hell. Well, that's what his friends were for, right?

"All right, then." Mr. Smythe exhaled. "I'll get the ball rolling. As for Lima..." He nodded towards Dave and Kurt. "This is your hometown. You have better connections and local resources than I do. I definitely have some national pull, but you know the lay of the land here. Just tell me what you want to tell and what you want to do, and I think it would be of immense help."

Kurt nodded. "We'll be in touch."

"Yes, we will. Very closely." The bill had been paid, and all four men rose. Handshakes were exchanged.

"Mr. Smythe...?" Dave asked tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Do you... do you think I'll win?"

Smythe barely hesitated to answer. "I think we _can_ win."

The significance of his wording escaped nobody. Dave merely nodded in reply.

After Kurt dropped Jack back at his hotel (secured so his mother wouldn't realize the full extent of what was going on before it was too late), he glanced at his remaining passenger. What he saw on his fellow gay man's face was enough to make a decision. Instead of going back to Artie's, he instead drove to a park—a small, quiet, out of the way park his parents frequently took him to when he was little. Dave didn't seem surprised at this change of direction; he just silently watched the scenery go by until Kurt parked, then got out without a single word.

There were a couple of scattered families and children enjoying the fine summer weather, but there was more than enough space for a little privacy. Kurt went for a bench underneath a shady tree; Dave followed—or more like slumped.

The instant Dave's butt hit the bench, Kurt knew his instincts had held true; his companion immediately buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Kurt neither heard nor saw tears, but in a way, they would've been redundant.

Kurt didn't make a move; he knew Dave enough by now to know that what Dave wanted, even if he couldn't say it out loud: a little time to collapse, a little time to not be strong, a little time to let out his emotions (an underrated skill that might have saved everyone a lot of grief if Dave had gotten therapy—real therapy—earlier).

When Dave finally lifted his face, after long minutes during which he had Kurt's undivided attention, his eyes and cheeks were red but dry, his lower lip trembling. "I'm so fucking scared, Kurt," he rasped.

Indeed, Kurt had never seen Dave this scared, or anyone else for that matter—except maybe himself at the height of the bullying. He tried to think of something to say, but every instinctual reply he had was either trite or transparent lies.

Luckily, Dave didn't seem to notice, and just barrelled on. "I never wanted to be anything special, you know? I just wanted to get through high school. I just wanted to be normal. Now..." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Now everybody's gonna know my name. I'll be coming out to the whole fucking _country_ and I'll be in the middle of this huge debate, and—"

"You don't have to," Kurt said gently. "I'm sure Mr. Smythe can think of other way..."

Dave shook his head violently. "I've gone to St. Luke's my whole life, Kurt. I know what the people who go there are like. I know how they think, and who their friends are. This is probably the only way we're gonna get any judge in Lima to even _think_ about not forcing me to go into a straight camp, especially once Father Mitchell gets involved. At least... it's got a better chance than anything I've ever come up with." He turned to Kurt; now his eyes were starting to moisten. "And I'm even more afraid of going to Haven Lake. I know I said I could pretend, but if there's even a tiny chance I could... could lose myself, after all this time figuring out who I really am, I... I can't even think about it, it scares the shit out of me..."

Kurt wished he could just lie. He wished he could croon comforting words into Dave's ear, assure him that everything was going to be fine, and that he had no reason to worry. But he knew that they both knew what bullshit that would be.

"And I can't stop thinking of how my mom is going to look at me in the courtroom, and..." He sniffled. "This is so fucked up..."

"Yes, it is," Kurt agreed. "I wish none of it happened." He had to actively squelch the momentum towards self-blame; this was hardly the time for self pity. "I wish none of it was necessary."

"It's like I'm diving off a cliff, and I have no idea how deep the water is, and..." He drew in a deep, ragged breath. "I have no idea if I'm gonna survive..."

"You will," Kurt said firmly, "no matter what happens. And if you don't think you have the strength, well, you can borrow some from the people who're rooting for you. Just don't shut us out, okay?"

"Yeah, well, you and I both know what happens when I do that, so that's an easy promise to make." He stared out into space for a moment, into the light and laughter and cool breeze, before he said, "I don't know how to thank you, Kurt. I... None of this is your life, but you still... I just... I'm so fucking grateful..." His voice dropped off in a rasp.

Kurt patted Dave's shoulder firmly. Once again, he had to tell himself that his own sense of self-blame wasn't at all appropriate. God, with both him and Dave blaming themselves for everything that happened... Life could be pretty fucking twisted sometimes. "And I'm in this for the long haul. I'm not gonna rest until I know you're safe." The conversation drifted off again with that comforting word; Kurt's hand slid off Dave's shoulder. After a while, Kurt said, "So do you still want to do it?"

"Yes," Dave said, not even looking in Kurt's direction—maybe he was staring at some unknowable future that was barreling towards them both.

There it was, then. The die was cast; it almost felt inevitable.

Thus the curtain rose on Act II of the grand drama.


End file.
